


Waiting As My Heart Drops

by rory_the_dragon



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bathroom Sex, Establishing Relationship, Just ignore him, M/M, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, The Cab AU, Warnings for Peter Pan pining in the background, Working Through Emotional Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 14:38:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1553951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rory_the_dragon/pseuds/rory_the_dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t look real.</p><p>Which means he definitely shouldn’t be looking Henry over, slow, lazy smirk and a honeyed “Hi,” forming on his lips before the pink tip of a tongue darts out to wet them.</p><p>And yet.</p><p>"Hi," Henry says back, caught.</p><p>(Or: The Cab AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting As My Heart Drops

It was just a bad date. That’s all it was. Henry’s had bad dates before, there’s no reason for him to be feeling so upset about the whole thing. It wasn’t exactly like he’d thought this guy would be _the One_ or anything, it’s just…

It’s just that it’s not just a bad date. It’s the latest bad date in an entire slew of bad dates and Henry’s starting to think he might be the common denominator here.

It makes sense, he supposes. He doesn’t look his age, more seventeen than twenty-one, and he has a tendency to get overexcited which is like the complete opposite of suave and sexy, but he wants to find someone who wouldn’t _mind_ all that. He’s been through enough ‘I told him you were sweet’ blind dates, enough internet meet-ups where he hasn’t measured up to whatever they were expecting, enough sucky first dates that ended with a kiss on the cheek and a lie to call.

It’s exhausting.

He tightens his scarf around his neck and buries his hands into his coat pockets. His phone buzzes against his hand but he ignores it, not wanting to bring his hand back out into the cold. It’ll be Emma, asking how the whole thing went, and Henry’s not ready to think back on the disinterest of his date, the long pauses interspersed with one word answers and the scraping of utensils on plates.

It sucked. That’s enough.

It’s starting to rain by the time a cab stops for his hailing, and he tumbles into it gracelessly, trying to catch the tail end of his scarf as the wind tries to take it from him as he chatters his address out through freezing teeth. He freezes when another voice clashes with his in the air, different words but same intent, and curses his bad luck because _of course_.

"S-sorry," He says, stutters, and he can feel his face heating up in embarrassment without his consent. "I didn’t- I didn’t realise-"

His accidental co-passenger has _very_ blue eyes. Like, Photoshop blue, and they’re looking right at Henry, amused, as if Henry hasn’t just hijacked his cab. He’s also insanely attractive, creamy skin and ruffled blonde hair that’s been just as attacked by the rain as Henry’s has, only where Henry resembles something close to a small drowning animal, this stranger looks like he stepped off a photo shoot.

He doesn’t look _real_.

Which means he _definitely_ shouldn’t be looking Henry over, slow, lazy smirk and a honeyed “Hi,” forming on his lips before the pink tip of a tongue darts out to wet them.

And yet.

"Hi," Henry says back, caught.

The cabbie saves him from making a fool of himself, crackling sigh coming through the intercom and making him jump. “Which one is it, lads?”

Henry sighs, moment breaking, and looks back out at the storm that’s picked up since he closed the cab door behind him. It’s miserable out there and he really, _really_ doesn’t want to go back out into it. Not after the day he’s just had. But he thinks it’s probably a crime somewhere to kick tall blonde and gorgeous strangers out to their potential headcolds, and he’d feel bad about it later.

"We could share?" He offers, quickly, because the guy’s reaching for the door handle and something in Henry’s chest really doesn’t want him to leave. He can feel his blush peak at the tips of his ears, warm, unwanted, but pushes past it.

The stranger’s amused smirk turns into a smile, soft, grateful. “Sounds good to me,” And his voice is even better spread out across a sentence, slow and an odd mix of clear highness and rumbling depths, that even Henry’s address sounds attractive in it when he reels it off along with his own for the driver. “Felix, by the way.”

"Henry," He says. "Sorry about this."

"Don’t worry about it," Felix assures him, "Really," and he smiles. He’s still looking at Henry, still talking to him, and that’s

More than his date gave him all evening.

The harsh burn of humiliation comes rushing back instantly. Hansel had seemed nice enough when they were texting in the week leading up to their date, but as soon as they sat down together in the restaurant, nothing went right. Opinions clashed and there was no rhythm to anything they did. Henry tried, of course he did, but Hansel really…didn’t.

Maybe Henry just isn’t worth it.

There’s got to be a _reason_ why, after all these different dates, all these different guys, Henry’s still going home alone, every time.

Well, almost alone.

"Henry?" Felix is asking, concerned, and Henry snaps out of it. He is _not_ making an idiot of himself here. It’s about ten minutes to his place, he can manage it. Maybe.

"Fine," He mutters, waving off the concern. "Just…bad date, y’know?"

"Come on too strong?"

Henry laughs, bitter. “Probably.”

Felix nods, eyes still trained on Henry’s face like there’s an exam he has to study for. “Not to excuse them, but I’d probably come on too strong as well if you were sitting opposite me.” He shrugs and

What?

Henry blinks, certain he misheard, but…but Felix is looking at him, blue eyes intent, bottom lip caught beneath white teeth, and Henry hasn’t had a successful date in a long, _long_ time but he knows interest when he sees it, is suddenly very glad for Hansel’s lack of it.

“ _Oh_ ,” He breathes, and Felix’s mouth turns up into a smile, turning the air electric.

"Oh," He repeats back, and Henry smiles before he can help it, ducks his head to hide his blush.

He looks back quick enough, drawn back to Felix, and feels his pulse kick up a notch.

"We’re nearly at my place," Felix says, slow, considering almost, and his eyes still don’t leave Henry’s. "Do you wanna come up?"

And he smiles, somehow bashful and filthy at the same time, and Henry’s never heard someone politely ask ‘ _excuse me but do you think you’d be at all interested in fucking me until neither of us can walk straight?_ ' but he thinks that this is pretty close.

He’s never done this before, _doesn’t_ do this, but his mouth says “Sounds good,” repeats Felix’s words back to him.

The cab stops.

 

***

 

Henry loses some of his nerve when they’ve paid the cabbie, out of the condensationed heat of the cab and back into the cooling slap-in-the-face-with-a-dose-of-reality rain.

He doesn’t _know_ Felix. Felix could be a serial killer for all he knows. Felix might not even be his _name_. This might not even be his house. Or worse, it could be his house and there’s a basement waiting with Henry’s name on it.

Or, worst of all, Felix actually _is_ interested in sleeping with him and Henry’s just going to fuck it up.

"Henry." Felix’s voice is soothing, concerned, lingering by his ear as a hand presses gentle to the small of his back, guiding him under cover of the archway of the apartment building. Henry puts his back to the wall, grounding himself, and looks pointedly at Felix’s chest. "Henry, relax. There is no obligation here. If you want to change your mind, you can leave now. I’ll call the cab back."

He looks up, sees the look of concern in Felix’s eyes and

"No," He says, sure. "I don’t want to change my mind."

Felix’s smile returns, pleased. “Good. I really didn’t want you to change your mind.”

Henry can’t help but smile back, and they’re two strangers smiling at each other in a dingy archway but Henry doesn’t care right now.

"Let me try something," Felix says, hand running up Henry’s arm. "It might make you feel better." His hand rests on Henry’s neck, thumb sweeping up across his cheek, and is kissing him before Henry can even let himself blush at the sensations springing from his hand and _wow._

Did Felix _study_ kissing somewhere?

Soft but insistent pressing kisses to Henry’s lips that spark electricity in the sensitive skin and Henry’s pushing back before he even realises, arms entwining behind Felix’s neck and pulling him down, closer, even as Henry presses up on his toes to give as good as he’s getting. His mouth opens, hotly, to breathe, and Felix kisses his way inside.

Henry’s thankful he has the wall behind him to lean back against when Felix steps forward, leg slipping between Henry’s and hand tilting Henry’s head back, breaking the kiss wetly as Felix moves down, down, kissing his way down Henry’s neck to scrape his teeth across his clavicle, where his scarf has slipped.

"Fuck," Henry breathes, head thumping back into the wall, and Felix comes back up to grin at him, less than an inch away.

"Better?" He asks, and Henry nods, pushes away that last inch to take Felix’s mouth back again, taste his smile.

"Well," Felix says when Henry pulls back again. "At least we know we’re compatible. Care to test the theory further?"

"Oh god yes." Henry doesn’t know how he does it without blushing, but he rolls his hips slightly, just enough to make his point, and feels Felix grin again, bite it against his jaw.

"Perfect."

Henry’s impressed with how quickly Felix gets the gate unlocked, bringing Henry over to an elevator that looks like it’s seen better days but, hey, Henry’s decided to trust Felix this far, right?

Felix has him pressed back against the cold metal walls as soon as the door slides shut, pulling at his scarf and exposing his neck to the air, diving down and returning to his previous point of interest without obstructions. Henry’s throat works silently around a wordless moan as Felix bites down, soothes the skin with his tongue.

"I-" He gets out, guttural and choked, and Felix kisses his way up to Henry’s ear, bites at the lobe. His teeth are sharp and Henry shouldn’t like it as much as he does. "I don’t _do_ this,” He admits, hands braced against the metal railing of the lift.

"Me either," Felix purrs, _purrs_ , and Henry’s legs almost give out.

He needs to stop being so passive here, fuck.

The elevator doors open and Felix pulls him out by his belt loops, walking backwards until they hit a wall, and Henry follows instinct. He all but _climbs_ Felix, pushing up on his toes to chase after his mouth, and Felix ducks in to let him, wrapping his arms around him, one slung low around his back and the other warm at his nape.

"We," Felix breaks off with a filthy sound only to push back and kiss Henry again. "We need to-" He kisses him again, long and deep and they’re making out in the middle of a corridor, completely without abandon, and Felix won’t stop sucking Henry’s bottom lip into his mouth and holding it there, groaning deep, sometimes lines his teeth across it and pulls and Henry really can’t feel his legs anymore.

"Your place," Henry mutters the next time he has air, because if Felix does that one more time he’s going to have him in the hallway.

Fuck, he’s never felt so magnetised to another person before, attraction coiling through his muscles, bubbling and fizzing in his veins, and it takes all of his restraint to step away from Felix because he’s forgotten how to.

Felix nods, chest heaving, and fuck he’s just as affected as Henry is. It buoys something in Henry’s chest, makes him feel like the carpet beneath his feet is clouds and he’s floating away, away, with only Felix’s hand at the dip of his spine to hold him here.

It’s gotten dark enough that Felix has to grope for his lightswitch when they stumble over the threshold, gives up and presses Henry back against the wall in the dark, hands on his shoulders and intent in his gentle shove. He kisses him, once, twice, a third time, close mouthed and lingering; then he pulls back, locks eyes with Henry for a long, considering moment, and goes to his knees.

He lifts at the hem of Henry’s coat, his shirt, kisses the skin he bares there, and his fingers undo the snap of Henry’s jeans, the zipper. His tongue drags along the waistline, wet and warm and Henry’s head falls back as Felix noses at the hardness in Henry’s jeans, drags denim down in a slow, rough pull.

He’s been hard since the elevator, harder still since the corridor, and Felix mouths wetly at his boxers, an appreciative hum vibrating out that rakes down Henry’s spine, and he doesn’t give any warning before licking dryly at the damp spot of Henry’s underwear.

Henry cries out, and he can _feel_ Felix’s smile against him, laughs brokenly.

He pulls his scarf off and throws it blindly away, too warm, doesn’t make it to his coat because Felix is pulling down his boxers and swallowing him down, down, down. Henry’s spine arches, curves like a bow, and he tries to keep his hips still, only partially succeeds as he shudders and juts when Felix’s nose hits his belly, the hot warm wet heat of him engulfing.

Felix takes his time moving back, slow suction and hollowed cheeks and a moan that rewires Henry’s brain as if Felix is enjoying this just as much as Henry is only that’s impossible because every synapse in Henry’s brain is firing, exploding, legs only keeping him up because Felix has a hand on the back of each knee, and his tongue works busily on the underside of Henry’s cock as he pulls off completely, breathes hotly over the wet flesh so that sparks dance behind Henry’s eyelids and when did he shut his eyes?

He opens them again to Felix looking up at him, mouth a sinful red, and he doesn’t break eye contact as he repeats himself, faster and wetter, only looking away when he has Henry entirely inside of him, as if he wants to concentrate fully on Henry’s cock, needs to, loves to. Felix’s moan shudders around him and Henry barely gets ahold on himself before another one has him gasping and Felix is _noisy_ , appreciative and needy noises and Henry can’t tell which is which until they all blur into one rumbling groan that has Henry scrabbling for purchase at the wall behind him, until his hands finally land in Felix’s hair, pulling, and with one final groan, either from him or Felix or both, Henry comes with a shout, a drawn out cry that is loud enough to drown out the ringing in his ears, the thud of his pulse, Felix at his feet.

He leans heavy back against the wall, hissing as Felix swallows around him, drags off, then returns to lap at Henry’s sensitive cock, little kitten licks and noses that have Henry reaching for him, wordless sounds falling from his mouth, and Felix comes back, tucking Henry back into his boxers gently but the touch still enough to make Henry shake, and he waits a few inches away, taking Henry in.

Henry doesn’t know what he looks like, red-faced probably, and panting, but Felix bites down on his already wrecked bottom lip as he looks him over, a pleased look in his eyes, and he hesitates an inch away from Henry’s lips.

Henry pulls him in, tastes himself bitter on Felix’s tongue, sucks on it to draw the taste away, and Felix presses closer, closer, hand at Henry’s neck again, needy and desperate, and he hasn’t come yet.

"Bed?" He asks, when Felix pulls back to breathe, his blue eyes round and electric, and Felix’s tongue darts out to wet at his red lips, as if he still needs to taste Henry.

"Bed," Felix nods, voice rough, and it pulls at the heat in Henry’s spine. He doesn’t know the last time he felt like this, wanted someone so violently or felt so wanted, and he kisses at Felix again, smudges them across his jaw, and Felix walks him back, pushing his coat off his shoulders as he does so.

Henry doesn’t keep track of where it lands, lets himself be turned and take in the room he’s been led in, lit up with a small lamp Felix clicks on before returning his attentions to Henry’s neck.

It’s nice, small, a studio more than an apartment, and Henry can see a kitchen, a small sofa set, more book shelves than he was expecting, and a double bed in the corner by the large set of windows that pretty much make up the opposite wall.

"Nice place," He mutters, turning his neck to catch Felix’s mouth as Felix’s teeth pull at his jawline, and it should be awkward at this angle but it isn’t. Their teeth clash a little, and Felix smiles into the kiss.

"Thanks," He grins. "Take off your clothes."

His fingers beat Henry’s to the buttons of his shirt, eager in a way that makes Henry’s head spin, and Henry lets Felix do the work, rests his head back on Felix shoulder until Felix’s long fingers have unbuttoned all the way, are playing with the elastic of his boxers again, teasing, and Henry shrugs out of the shirt so he’s just standing in his unzipped jeans. He kicks off his shoes.

Felix is already pulling his own shirt over his head, revealing what has to be miles and miles of pale muscled torso, freckles and ink and white scars littered across the skin, and Henry dips in before Felix has even cleared his head, licks at a smattered of freckles close enough to the pinkness of Felix’s nipple that he feels him tense under his tongue, smiles.

There’s a silver ring hooked in Felix’s other nipple and Henry’s fingers it softly, hears the hiss of air through Felix’s teeth, the _”Fuck,_ " that leaks out afterwards.

Felix’s hands fall on Henry’s shoulder, pushing him away a few steps, and Felix gives him a _wait_ look that Henry itches to ignore but doesn’t as Felix kicks off his boots and is unbuckling his jeans artlessly but it’s the sexiest thing Henry’s ever seen.

Until he’s out of his underwear.

That’s the sexiest thing Henry’s ever seen, ever _will_ see. Felix’s limbs are long and his muscles coiled tight, fit and lean, his abs are made for licking and every inch of him is well-defined and sharp. Tattoos are all across his body, at the curve of his thighs, his ankles, peeking over his shoulders and wrapped around his arms, splashes of colour and font and Henry wants to study every one of them. He wants to document every scar and taste every freckle.

And Felix’s cock is a curve that will fit perfectly into Henry’s hand, straining and red and

"God," Henry says, feels his own cock jump again in interest.

Felix looks more comfortable naked than he had clothed, and he looks better naked than anyone has any right to. Henry wants to pinch himself, but figures that’ll probably break the spell and he is so not ready for that to happen yet.

Felix ducks his head, bashful, and steps forward. His hands bracket Henry’s hipbones and he walks him backwards until the backs of Henry’s calves hit Felix’s mattress and he shuffles back onto the bed under Felix’s wordless instruction.

"Jeans. Off." He says, and Henry follows that instruction too, shimmies out of them in a way that must look utterly graceless but Felix doesn’t seem to care, eyes stripping down the length of him, resting on his lips, neck, to where he’s starting to tent his underwear again. " _Henry,_ " He says, slow and honeyed, and Henry hooks his thumbs into his underwear, throws them to one side, and lets himself be looked at.

He can feel his blush spread from his cheeks down to his chest. He can even feel the heat in his _thighs_ , and from where he’s pushed up onto his elbows, he can see Felix’s eyes, hooded, watch the progress of his flush.

Felix _prowls_ on top of Henry, crowding him down and holding him there. Their bodies are slick with sweat and rain and they slot together easily, Felix pressing down as Henry rolls up, instant friction, _alight_. Felix rubs his top lip into the spit-slick wetness of Henry’s bottom lip and Henry’s eyelids flutter closed. His hands blindly map the planes of Felix’s shoulders, the dip of his spine, and palm at the curve of his ass. Felix jolts, presses up on his forearms to raise an eyebrow at Henry, grin, amused.

“ _What? Too soon?_ ” Henry challenges, and Felix laughs, a low chuckle, and it burns in Henry’s chest. Felix dips back down, sipping at Henry’s mouth like he’s water, before they turn into gulps, long and wet, until Henry’s hands rise to clutch at Felix’s cheeks, desperate. “How?” He gets out, and he barely recognises his own voice, lets Felix kiss him again and again but he carries on as soon as he can get air. “How do you want to do this? _Tell me._ ”

Felix all but freezes against him for a long moment but before Henry can check if he’s okay, he’s surging back, tongue and teeth, and he kisses and kisses Henry, bruising his mouth until Henry’s gasping. “I want,” He _growls_ , and he catches Henry’s mouth again. His hair is still damp when Henry’s hands thread through the tangles of it, pulling. “I want you _inside_ me.” Henry’s brain nearly shorts out at that, and he’s so glad it doesn’t because Felix is still speaking. “I want to be on top of you and I want to ride you until you come, again and again.”

Then he kisses Henry again, slow, soft. “That sound okay?”

Does that sound okay? Henry passed okay a long while back. Henry passed okay in the _cab_. He’s still ninety percent sure that he died in the street and this entire thing is the chemicals in his brain coming up with a happy ending for him.

Henry's hard again, aching, and he rolls his hips, presses back and chases Felix's mouth until he’s sitting up again, until Felix is settled in his lap, and the rub of Felix's cock against his, hard and leaking, electrifies him, has him biting down on Felix's bottom lip.

"Fuck, you're some kind of dream, aren't you?" He breathes, gentle.

"Likewise." Felix smiles softly, before he's moving away, hand searching in a bedside cabinet and coming up with a small box and a bottle.

Felix settles himself back onto the pillows, and Henry moves to the vee of his legs as he spreads them, knees pulling back up to his chest. He tosses the box of condoms to one side as he snicks open the bottom of lube.

Felix has a slick finger pressed inside of himself before Henry can even blink, hand at an angle, and Henry doesn't know where to look, transfixed equally between the place where Felix's body is opening up so easily for him, or at the expressions on Felix's face as he fingers himself open.

A second finger joins the first and Henry can't _stand_ it.

He slides his palm down the arm Felix is using to open himself up, as a warning, but Felix doesn't get it until Henry presses his own finger in with Felix's, a different angle, and Felix chokes off a moan as Henry rubs inside him, slow. He keeps his eyes on Felix’s face as he pushes his fingers aside and presses a second finger in, in, _in_.

" _Henry-_ "

Henry nearly loses his rhythm at the sound of his name, choked and groaned, Felix's hips pushing against his hand and his head falling back, pupils blown, braces himself on Felix’s knee and presses a swift kiss to the skin there as he curls a finger deep inside Felix. It's like seeing God, the things Felix's face does at that.

He presses in a third finger, tight, and Felix snaps back into action, hands at Henry's shoulders and pushing him back into the mattress as Felix follows him over. His fingers come free from Felix's body with a slick sound that claws at his abdomen, but Henry's too busy making sense of the new situation, feeling Felix's knees either side of his hips, looking up to see Felix's face shadowed by the fall of his, the light glinting off his blue eyes, the gulp of his throat.

There's a tearing noise and Henry feels the roll of a condom over his cock, Felix's nimble and still slick and body-warm fingers working him and he's dying.

But it's nothing, _nothing,_ compared to the hot tight heat of Felix as he settles himself over Henry's cock and sinks down, down, punching the air out of Henry's chest. Felix braces a hand by Henry’s head, spine bent in a bow-curve, and his eyes never leave Henry’s, with Henry all the way until with one final roll of his hips, he’s seated all the way inside Felix, overwhelming and tight.

Felix bends, face a scarce inch away from Henry’s, and closes that final gap to kiss him, sweet and tender and it cracks Henry open at his core when he pulls away. He’s shaking.

Felix finds the hands Henry has twisted in the blankets and laces their fingers together, presses down against Henry’s palms as leverage to move his hips and Henry’s mouth falls open.

“Okay?” Felix asks, voice gravelled and he sounds as wrecked as Henry feels.

Henry nods, jerkily, and Felix _moves_. He finds a rhythm easily, quickly, and it has Henry lit up. There’s no stopping him, or them, and Henry’d kill anyone who would try.

Sex has never been like this before, _never_.

Felix pulls back, sitting up, and he pulls Henry’s hands to settle on his hips, holding him, and Henry drives up until him, catches Felix into a moan, and Felix releases his hands, presses his palms to Henry’s chest and snaps his hips, faster and faster.

Henry’s mewling nonsense as Felix’s hips roll and crest like one of them is the sea and the other the breaking wave and Henry doesn’t know which is which only that he can’t stop the litany of Felix’s name, of _oh god oh god_ of wordless shouts and meaningless sounds that fall from his lips as Felix speeds up, pushing them both towards the cliff face.

Henry _writhes_ , keens, and his fingers are probably bruising Felix’s hips but that’s okay because Felix is digging into his shoulders like Henry’s the only port in a storm, is bending back down to pant hotly against Henry’s mouth, and maybe Henry kisses Felix or Felix kisses Henry but they’re kissing through it and they keep kissing, Henry’s hand finding Felix’s hair and Felix swallowing every one of Henry’s noises down. Henry’s close, he’s so close, and for the second time tonight he’s coming and coming and shouting Felix’s name out into the air.

Felix fucks him through it, hips never wavering, relentless, and when Henry bites down on the place where his shoulder meets his neck, makes a purple-red bruise of Felix’s name there, he comes between their bodies, hot and wet and

Felix shudders and falls to his forearms, still holding himself up, enough presence of mind not to collapse onto Henry, and he buries his face in Henry’s collar. Henry can feel him breathing, hard, feel him shaking.

Henry comes back to himself in pieces, soft and warm, and somewhere his fingers have started stroking through Felix’s hair but that’s nice, he likes doing that. He feels stripped back to himself, dazed and unaware of movement until Felix pulls off and he instantly feels the loss.

“No offence,” Felix says, voice fucked out and lazy above him, kissing his way from Henry’s shoulder up his neck until he’s hovering over him, noses touching. “But I’m really glad your date sucked.”

Henry laughs weakly, kisses back when Felix presses back down to him, slow and open mouthed. “I’m really glad we decided to test your theory further.”

 

***

 

Something blares noisily and when Henry’s eyes snap open there’s a clock a few feet away reading 2:38 in annoyingly bright red light. The noise is still going, there’s fumbling and movement behind, then a croaky “Hello?”

“ _Who are_ you _?!_ ” A frantic voice pours into the air, tinny and loud on a second rate mobile and

Fuck

Henry twists quickly, yanks the phone out of Felix’s hand and presses it to his ear. “Emma.”

“ _Henry._ ” She breathes. “ _Kid, what the hell?_ ”

“I had a date and you’re calling me at two in the morning?” Henry lets the words sink in, even if they’re not entirely truthful, and he hears Emma splutter through the phone.

“ _Well, I- You’ve never- I didn’t- I’m hanging up now._ ” She pauses for a second. _“Call me tomorrow_.”

“Good _bye_ , Mom.”

She hangs up and Henry drops the phone into his lap. He can feel his blush heating up again over the tips of his ears, the line of his jaw, and as soon as he acknowledges it, it flares across his cheeks, his neck. He’s thankful for the darkness. “Sorry about that,” He says, because Felix is sitting up, long limbs moving quietly and sleepily.

“Your mom?” His voice is still wrecked, partially sleep and partially from the noises Henry drew from his throat earlier and Henry’s blush deepens at the sudden flash of memory.

“We’re close,” He says, quiet, like holding his breath as Felix leans close. “I usually call her after dates, misery loves company and all that.”

“I still don’t believe it,” Felix says, and a warm hand rises out of the covers to hold firm at Henry’s cheek. The movement pulls the sheet off Henry’s shoulder and Henry shivers, though that might be in part due to the way Felix is looking at him in the dark. “How does anyone look at you and not want to take you home?”

Henry laughs, soft, tries to duck his head and can’t with the way Felix is holding him. He looks into Felix’s eyes, and they’re still so fucking blue even in the dim light. “You’re one of a _lucky few_.” He doesn’t mean it to sound bitter, doesn’t want to ruin the harp-string tenseness of the moment, and somehow he doesn’t.

Felix blinks, slow, and he’s close enough now that Henry can feel the lashes on his own skin. “I am.” He smiles and kisses Henry intently, uses the hand on his jaw to tilt Henry’s mouth open.

They don’t go back to sleep for a while.

 

***

 

Henry wakes up for the second time in a much lighter room and a much emptier bed. He’s still sticky, whatever Felix had used to wipe them down the first, and then the second, time not quite effective enough to remove all traces of come from Henry’s stomach, the insides of his thighs, and he grimaces a little as he moves, pushes up.

He finds Felix immediately. It’s an open plan studio and the kitchen isn’t far away. Felix is standing with his back to Henry, torso bare and the hard lines of his shoulders working as he moves.

And Henry doesn’t know what to do.

He doesn’t _do_ this all that often, the whole one night stand thing. Maybe he shouldn’t have stayed the night, though he can’t bring himself to regret that what with the spectacular series of orgasms Felix pulled out of him in the early hours of this morning, but now he feels out of place, sitting in the middle of a big bed that isn’t his and he can see half of his clothes scattered around the apartment.

His boxers are, thankfully, only a few feet away, and by the time he’s pulled them on, Felix is aware of him.

“Eggs?” He asks, and that

Was _not_ what Henry was expecting.

Felix is scrambling eggs, in the kitchen, in his underwear, and offering some to Henry like that’s what you _do_ when the person you’ve slept with wakes up. Maybe it _is_. Henry wouldn’t know. His few previous one night stands have all snuck out with the sun.

Maybe he should have done that.

He opens his mouth to say “I should really be going”, only it comes out a “Sure,” without him meaning it to. He’s glad it does, because Felix’s returning smile is gentle and warm and could outclass the sun in brightness.

He heads over to the kitchen area, and something tells him he’s welcome there, free to press a hand to Felix’s hip as he looks around his shoulder to the colourful array of herbs and eggs Felix has in his pan, and he catches the smile on Felix’s face when he does so, bites down his own.

“Smells good,” He says, impressed. Henry’s more of a take-out-to-avoid-burning-down-the-apartment kind of guy, and any display of culinary capability is impressive to him, but Felix seems to make an omelette seem like a gourmet recipe. Felix feeds him a small amount, hand curved under the spatula as Henry eats off of it, eyes on Felix as Felix watches him eat, and _that is the best omelette Henry’s ever tasted_. “That’s amazing,” He says, swallowing, and Felix looks pleased. “You know how to cook?”

Felix shrugs. “A little. Will you get me two plates from that cupboard?”

Henry goes and comes back, sets them down. “I can barely make toast,” He admits as Felix does something with his spatula that creates two omelettes from one and they both look delicious. Henry’s stomach growls and he blushes instantly.

Felix chuckles. “We’ll have to fix that,” He says, and Henry doesn’t know whether he’s talking about his cooking skills or his stomach, chooses the safer route and takes the fork Felix offers him.

The omelette is even better in quantity and Henry gets almost halfway through it, hollow stomach needy, before he stops to breathe. He freezes, suddenly embarrassed, before he sees that Felix has done almost exactly the same thing. They laugh, quietly, and Henry’s blush comes back in full force when Felix quirks an eyebrows, says, “Need to get my strength back.”

“Where’d you learn to cook?” Henry asks, instead of focusing on the look in Felix’s eyes.

The look mutes slightly, changes, and Felix is silent for a second, the tines of his fork scraping gently across his plate. “Here and there,” He shrugs again. “I mostly taught myself. And I’ve worked in enough restaurants to pick up a few things along the way.”

And suddenly Henry wants to know everything, wants to know Felix’s heres and theres, wants to know them all. He doesn’t want to leave without knowing more about Felix.

This is probably why Henry doesn’t do one night stands often.

He finishes the last of his breakfast, plate clean, and he expects a polite goodbye, maybe an awkward silence as he collects up his clothes and dresses again, maybe a goodbye kiss at the door if he’s lucky, but then the pad of Felix’s thumb catches at the curve of Henry’s bottom lip, rubbing or wiping maybe, for a second before it’s more of a drag, slow, and Felix leans forward to kiss him.

This isn’t a goodbye kiss. This is a kiss with intent. Their knees have been pressed against each other the entire time only now Felix is knocking Henry’s knees open to press closer and closer, licking his way into Henry’s mouth and

“Wait,” Henry breaks off, when did his hands move to Felix’s neck? “Wait, I taste-”

“Just the same as me,” Felix reminds him, sucks Henry’s bottom lip into his mouth. “How do I taste?”

Felix tastes...Felix tastes like breakfast and juice and spit. It’s not unpleasant, particularly coupled with the extraordinary things he’s doing with his tongue. “Pretty good,” Henry gasps. “I suppose.”

“You suppose?” Felix’s voice is sharp with amusement that Henry can almost taste.

“Yeah,” He breathes, and his hand slides down the planes of Felix’s chest as Felix kisses into him again, fingers dancing down until he comes to the lip of Felix’s boxers. His fingertips slip just under the rim, but before he can get any further, Felix’s hand is covering his, stopping him, and he breaks the kiss.

“I can’t-” He starts, and Henry jerks back, a hot flush of humiliation coursing through him. Felix catches him, eyes widening. “No, Henry, that’s not-” He stops, sighs, looks to be mulling something over before he finally says, “I can’t get off until you do.”

Henry blinks. “What?”

“Well, I _can_. But I don’t like it.” He raises an eyebrow, challenging, but there’s a pinkness at the tips of his ears that is completely adorable. “Is that a problem?”

Henry stares at him for a while. “You’re utterly mad, aren’t you?”

The pink turns to red and Felix looks at him. “Are you going to let me eat you out in the shower or not?”

Mad or not, Henry doesn’t have to think twice.

 

***

 

Henry hisses, pressed back against the chill of the shower tile that even the rising steam from the water can’t take the edge off, and he arches into the kiss Felix crowds him into, warm and wet under the spray of the water. Felix is partially hard against him already and Henry slides his hands down to the dip of Felix’s spine, the curve of his ass, pulls Felix in closer.

Felix laughs into his mouth, and Henry smiles, delighted. He wants to hear Felix laugh every day for the rest of his life, just like this, soft and amused and _fond_ , as if he knows Henry so very well.

“Ah, ah,” Felix grins, hands moving to Henry’s to pull them away. Henry lets himself be moved reluctantly, placated when Felix dips and starts sucking at his neck, teeth scraping and tripping downwards until Henry’s head is back and Felix’s tongue is lapping at the water streaming down his collarbones.

“Turn around,” He mutters, still nosing at the crease where Henry’s shoulder meets his neck, and when Henry does do, he bites down on the nape, gently but pointedly, soothes the spot with his tongue. Henry shivers, and it’s not the cold tiles this time.

Felix smiles against him, kissing his way across Henry’s shoulder blades like he _has_ to taste every inch Henry has to offer him, and Henry’s never felt like that with someone, like he’s _necessary_ to the entire experience. _Him. Henry_. He’s never felt wanted like this before.

And Felix

Keeps

Going

Down and down until he’s biting at the divots at the bottom of Henry’s spine, the wet strands of his hair and the slickness of his forehead resting against the dip there as his hands settle on Henry’s hips, firm. Henry looks down, sees the spread of Felix’s long fingers bracketing him, close enough to the jut of his cock that he chokes on the phantom sensations his memory spins for him.

“Arch your back,” Felix instructs, low but loud enough that Henry can hear him over the water, or maybe it’s the roar in his ears. “Spread your legs.” Henry complies, doesn’t know how to do anything else when Felix is asking him like this. “Good boy.”

Henry drops his head when Felix drags his teeth down the flesh of his ass, so close, _teasing_ , and when Felix licks him, sudden and tongue wide, without any warning, he makes a noise that would embarrassing if he weren’t so turned on and turned out that he just _doesn’t care_.

Felix’s name drops from his lips in a groan, cuts off before the X because Felix’s thumbs are spreading him, holding him open, and for a moment there’s just the warm huff of Felix’s breath, the water streaming down him, then

Henry shouts out as Felix’s mouth closes on a kiss that’s all but _inside_ him, before his tongue darts out and drags _up_ and Henry needs more to hold onto than slippery tiles, he needs he needs he needs _more._

“Oh, fuck oh god,” He babbles, nonsense, as Felix presses closer, tongue delving deep then drawing back for soft kitten licks that have Henry’s entire nervous system on fire. There’s a tremor in his legs, fighting to hold him up, and Felix’s tongue forms a point, tracing around him, leisurely, as if Henry’s a fucking delicacy Felix wants to savour, lapping at him.

Felix _sucks_ and Henry’s legs buckle beneath him, fractured moans and high whines echoing back off the close walls of the shower to him as Felix keeps going, _hums_ , and the vibrations judder through Henry’s bones. He’s breathing, hard, and then Felix’s tongue curls inside him, pushing _in_ , and so wet that Henry’s head spins, fucked open on Felix’s tongue. Henry makes an inhuman sound.

He can feel the intensity of his orgasm on the horizon, body locking and heating up in a starburst that’s threatening to eclipse him, and Felix is fucking _eating_ at him, groaning inside of him, and he barely gets the “ _Stop, stop_ ,” out, broken on a gasp.

Felix stops immediately. “Henry?”

Henry catches his breath, resting his forehead against the tiles, and he turns his face to the side. “Fuck me. _Please_. I won’t- I won’t last twice. _Fuck_ , Felix.” He won’t. Felix has been impressive so far with coaxing multiple, earth-shattering orgasms out of him, but Henry _knows_ that if he comes right now, that’ll be it. Lights out, everybody go home. “Can you- Would that be- Can you still-”

He doesn’t know how to ask the question, but Felix gets it, bites once at the curve of his ass and fucking _slides_ up Henry’s body, hands finding him again from where he’d backed off at Henry’s ‘stop’. “Yes,” He growls, voice fucked out and low in Henry’s ear. There’s a string of tension running through it, like a wire begging to be snapped. “At the same time, yes. But,” Felix’s hand moves down, encircles Henry’s cock in a loose ring of fingers that moves achingly slowly up him. “I don’t have anything in here.” Henry whines in the back of his throat. “And I don’t want to get out to get one.”

“ _Felix_.” The name elongates in Henry’s mouth under Felix’s pace, and he pushes back, feels Felix hard against him and he’s so fucking needy right now,

Felix lifts his head from where he’s mouthing at Henry’s neck, and his voice is raw when he orders, “Bend.” As he does so, the hand gripped around Henry’s cock twists off, Henry shuddering out a cry, and Felix’s hands find Henry’s press them high on the tiles above his head and one of Felix’s hands stays, holds them there, broad grip firm.

The other hand moves back to Henry’s hips, pulling him back into an angle, and Henry goes, malleable beneath Felix’s touch, even if he doesn’t understand, but then the length of Felix’s cock slides against the crease of his ass and

“Fuck,” He shivers, and the wet slide of Felix’s cock sparks the already sensitised skin of his hole, makes him drop his head down between his shoulders. Felix’s hand returns, circles him again, perfect grip, and if Henry can’t have Felix inside of him, this is beyond anything else he could imagine, the smooth water-slick drag of Felix against him, as close to inside him as he can get.

Felix’s pace is slow to begin with, aching, and spots dance across Henry’s vision, the heat of the shower, the racing of his heart, the pressure swelling up again in the pit of his belly. He doesn’t know which way to move, into Felix’s hand or back against him, but Felix makes the decision for him, moving his hips in a hazy circle that has Henry pushing forward and pulling back all at once, Felix pushing in tight to the clef of him and dragging, he’s tearing Henry apart at the seams here, and Henry’s already so much closer than he expected, Felix working him so slowly, as if trying to figure him out, biting at the nape of his neck and

When the head of Felix’s cock _just_ breaches inside Henry, the hand on him jolts, and Henry comes in a messy _pull_ as if his orgasm has physically been wrenched from him. His body tightens and explodes in every direction, it feels, and he’s thankful for the hand Felix has on his, holding him up as he shudders and falls forward, gasping.

Behind him, Felix makes an “Oh,” sound, like he’s been gutted, and comes across Henry’s skin, all but falls against him, bracing himself against the tiles too. Henry leans his cheek against the arm Felix has by his head, feels him press his mouth to Henry’s shoulder, more catching his breath than a kiss of any kind, wet and panting, and they stay there, leaning against each other under the downpour, for a long moment.

Felix moves first, noses back up to the sensitive skin behind Henry’s ear, kisses it. “Good enough?” His voice is shaky, and his hands nudge Henry around, so Henry’s looking at him. Aftershocks are still chasing through his body, and he doesn’t know how his legs are still holding him up right now.

He nods, dazed. “Good enough.”

 

***

 

While Henry's still coming around, Felix soaps his body, sluices the come off of him, and Henry lets himself be cleaned, hums under it as Felix's fingers make their way to his hair, massaging shampoo into Henry's scalp, and Henry can't find it in himself to care that he's functionally useless right now. Felix's fingers feel so good, soothing.

He has enough of his capacities back to wash the suds out himself as Felix scrubs his fingers through his own hair, and they move around each other in silence, like a dance they've had years to perfect rather than only minutes.

Felix lends him a toothbrush, which is fantastic because no matter what Felix said, Henry had been sure he tasted awful, and when a small trickle of toothpaste drips down his chin, Felix's thumb catches it, raises to his mouth and he sucks it off in a way that shouldn't be sexy but really is.

Henry's beginning to think that's a theme with Felix, is certain he'll never be able to eat omelette again without blushing.

They’ve slept in, early afternoon sun breaking through Felix's veritable wall of windows. It’s warm on Henry's skin, soft and hazy, and Henry wants to bathe in it, feel it leak into his skin and feel it’s warmth in Felix’s, roll around in it.

A yawn eclipses his mouth, and he fights to hide it, flushing, because Felix has drained him to the dregs, split him open and taken him apart, and is so much more composed than Henry is, fluffy white towel hitched low around his hips, and Henry wants to mark up the skin then, write his name across it in purple bruises. And Henry really needs to go, before he falls in too deep, too fast, like he always does.

“Pick something,” Felix murmurs in his ear, pressing up against his back and long hands fingering at the knot of Henry’s towel, playful, no intent behind it, just like he can’t _not_ be touching Henry, a kiss placed at Henry’s shoulder. “I’ll find you something to wear.”

Which…

Still doesn’t sound like a goodbye. It sounds like a ‘Stay’. Sounds like a ‘Spend the day, in my flat, in my clothes, watching movies on my couch, with me’.

“Unless,” Felix says, holding a handful of material, and for a second he looks almost awkward. “You have somewhere to be?”

Henry doesn’t think he could go anywhere if he _tried_. For one, his legs are still weak under him, and he’s honestly not sure how long he’s going to manage staying awake again. For another, he really _really_ doesn’t want to. Every thought he’d had about needing to leave is drowned out by the picture Felix makes, hopeful and waiting, and maybe it’s a mistake, but Henry’s never been very good at doing anything but following the pull in his chest.

He takes the clothes from Felix’s hands, shakes his head. “I’m all yours.”

Henry picks something, a mindless film that he’s sure he’s seen a dozen times before, and after they set it up, they settle on Felix’s couch. It’s small, and if they were pretending that they were teenagers on a first date, rather than grown adults who’ve already had mindblowing sex three times, that’d be a problem. As it is, Felix pulls Henry under his arm, and Henry’s more resting against his chest than he is sitting beside him, but Felix’s fingers are tracing indistinguishable patterns on the skin he can reach underneath the too-large collar of the red t-shirt he gave Henry, and his breath is warm at Henry’s ear as the credits start rolling.

If they weren’t both so fucked out, it’d be teasing, an easy slip back into the magnetising pull they both seem to have on each other, but for now it’s just soothing, hypnotic, making Henry’s limbs feel heavier and heavier.

“What’s your name?” Felix asks, voice quiet, and Henry blinks, sleepily. He really shouldn’t be this comfortable around a near stranger, but he supposes there’s got to be a certain point of sweaty nakedness and stunning orgasms that means they’re not really strangers anymore.

Henry and Felix very possibly passed that point hours ago.

“Henry.” He frowns, and Felix laughs.

“Last name.”

“Oh. Mills.”

Felix rolls the name around on his tongue and Henry shivers at the different way it sounds in Felix’s mouth, slow and _Henry_. It’s strange, but Henry’s never liked the sound of his own name so much.

“What about you?” His fingers find the hand Felix hasn’t got trapped down his shirt, lacing through the fingers. Felix squeezes back.

“I haven’t got a last name worth mentioning,” He says, quiet, and there’s something lurking behind the words that Henry wants to see, curious in his bones and growing curiouser every second longer he spends around Felix, but Felix’s voice is tight, coiled tense against Henry, and Henry lets it pass.

“Felix is good enough,” He says, smiling around the words, the flash of Felix’s gravelled _good enough?_ coming back to him, and he lifts their interlaced fingers, presses a kiss to the back of Felix’s hand. He feels Felix smile into his hair. “So what do you do?”

He knows a lot about Felix already; the breadth of his hands, the taste of his mouth, the feel of his body against Henry's when he comes like a freight train. He knows Felix's embrace when he sleeps and the pressure of his shower. Felix is quiet and clever, funny and _nice_. Henry knows all of that, all of the important things. He wants to know more.

“This and that,” Felix mutters, chuckles when Henry digs an elbow into him.

“Open book, aren’t you?”

“Not much to tell.” Felix shrugs. “I bar-tend, sometimes. Pick up jobs here and there when friends need things...And there _other_ sources of income.” Other sounds a lot like ‘illegal’ but Henry’s in no position to judge. He’s the biological son of two - reformed - thieves. And his adolescence wasn’t entirely a sticky-finger-free zone, exactly. He starts playing with Felix’s hand, absently. “Stuff that pays rent and feeds me. You?”

The movie’s still playing but it’s all but forgotten. “I'm a student. Mythology and Fairy Tale Lore." He waits, and when there isn't the usual incredulous scoff he's used to, he continues. "I was going home to work on a paper and forget about that awful date when I ran into you."

The smile Felix is still pressing against him widens. "Sex over homework," He chuckles, lips moving over him before pressing an almost fond kiss to his hair. " _Henry Mills_ ," He drawls, voice admonishing.

"It's the weekend," Henry counters, sitting up slightly to turn and meet Felix's eyes. The hand Felix has in his shirt slips out, clasps around his neck instead, and Felix raises an eyebrow at him. "It can wait til Monday."

"I like that plan." Felix kisses him, once, and they settle back to their previous positions, Felix's hand sliding back to resume drawing patterns into his chest.

The movie plays on.

"So, a student?" Felix says. "How old are you?"

Henry laughs. "Worried?"

Felix shakes his head. "Curious." And the thing is, he sounds it.

"I turned twenty one last month."

Felix hums and it rumbles in his chest, vibrating. His teeth rest on Henry’s ear, not biting down, just holding there, sharpness sending sparks of sensation down Henry’s neck and into his chest. “Happy birthday.” His mouth moves down, sucks at the skin behind Henry’s ear. Henry feels something stir again in the pit of his stomach, moves his head to allow Felix better access.

“Thanks,” He says, and Felix moves down his neck. “You?”

“My birthday’s in December.” Felix’s grin is warm against him, and Henry rolls his eyes. “Twenty three.” He offers before Henry can say anything, and bites down on a tendon in Henry’s neck. Whatever Henry was going to say next vanishes on a moan in the back of his throat, and this is getting ridiculous. They’ve barely come down from the shower.

Felix is just scraping his teeth back _up_ Henry’s neck, Henry trying hard to think of something else to say that isn’t a moan or Felix’s name, strung out, when a voice calls out into the room ‘Hey there, sexy!’ and they freeze.

Felix groans, exasperated, leans against him and laughs. “My phone,” He explains, and with a kiss to Henry’s neck and an apologetic rub to his arm, he rolls out from under him.

Henry blinks, can’t stop the smile that spreads out across his lips. “’Hey there, sexy’?” He grins, and Felix shoots him a look.

“My friend custom set it for himself.” He says, picking up the jeans he’d been wearing last night, crumpled up on the floor, and ferrets a phone out of the pockets. He checks the text, and as Henry watches him, his forehead creases and he bites his bottom lip in consternation, shooting a quick look at Henry.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Felix says, bringing his phone back over to the couch. He settles back beside Henry, and the charge that was zinging through the air isn’t there anymore, but it’s no less nice. “Just. My friend’s band has a gig tonight, in a small bar downtown. It’s a good night, usually, good music, cheap drinks. He’s just bugging me about it.”

“Oh,” Henry says, quiet, because suddenly he can see the end of this, like a cliff-face at the end of a road they’re racing down.

Then Felix says, “Do you want to come?” like there wasn’t even another option. Henry blinks. “They’re pretty good, actually.”

Henry should say no. Henry should leave. Henry should go back to his cold, Felix-less apartment and his pile of coursework. Henry should leave Felix with nothing but a vague memory of the night they spent together, forgotten easily and brushed off, before he does something stupid like get in too deep, make an idiot out of himself like he always does.

Henry should, really, go.

“Sounds fun,” He says, because he’s pretty sure it’s too late for all of that, he’s let himself get in too deep.

He really, really, likes Felix.

Felix’s face breaks on a smile that makes everything Henry’s seen lauded in museums look like worthless knockoffs. Felix happy could outshine the sun, Henry’s sure.

 

***

 

Henry excuses himself a few minutes later, pulling his jeans and shoes on and he skips waiting for the elevator, heads down the stairs and leaves the gate on the latch so he can get back in. He breathes in the air outside, fresh and sharp and doused with yesterday’s rain, and tries to clear his head.

He calls Emma.

“ _Kid_ ,” She says, and there’s amusement in her voice. Clearly in the time she’s had to reassess and think since her harried phone call this morning, she’s decided that the whole situation is funny. “ _You’re up late_.”

“Shut up,” He throws back, and hears her laugh down the phone. He grins despite himself. It’s always been easy between him and Emma, a give and take that’s closer to equals than a typical mother and son relationship. He wouldn’t change it for the world. “You’ve calmed down.”

“ _I’m always calm_ ,” She tells him, then her voice shifts. “ _Everything okay, kid?”_

“Yeah,” He says, slowly, thinking about whether he actually is or not. Every second he spends with Felix doesn’t feel real, like he’s cheated somewhere and won the grand prize and it’s going to be taken away from him any second.

_“You back at your place? I can take a break and swing by?”_

Henry hesitates. “I’m not at home.”

There’s a silence, and he can _hear_ the raised eyebrow and grin in Emma’s voice when she says, “ _At three in the afternoon_.”

“ _I’m having a nice time_ ,” He says, defensive when he never has to be with Emma.

“ _I_ don’t _want to know_.” Henry rolls his eyes.  Emma turns serious again. “ _Why are you calling me, kid?”_

“I…” He doesn’t know. “I like this guy.”

“…Right. _That’s a good thing, isn’t it? I know you were worried about the date, but_ -“

“I didn’t go home with Hansel.” He says it quickly, like ripping off a bandaid.

Emma’s silent for a second. Henry stands there, phone pressed to his ear and feet shuffling in the grass, and when Emma makes a noise it takes him a moment to realise she’s _laughing_.

“Mom!”

“ _Sorry, kid, I’m sorry. Just- Only you, Henry_.”

“Yes, my life is hilarious and tragic, can we please get back to fixing it?”

Emma stops laughing, clearly biting it back, and when she speaks again there’s still a note of amusement there, but she’s serious. “ _Fixing it?”_

“He’s asking me to spend the day with him.”

“ _Kid, you’ve already spent most of the day with him_.”

“I _know_ , but-“ It’s different, getting thoroughly eaten out in a shower and being invited out to meet friends. Worlds apart. He doesn’t say this to Emma. “I like him.”

“ _It sounds like he likes you, too, kid_ ,” She says, voice patient.

“No one likes me.” He says it before his brain can catch up to his mouth, cringes at the sounds of his voice. It’s quiet. Hurt. _Pitiable_.

“ _Oh,_ Henry.”

“Urgh, I didn’t-“ He wants to say he didn’t mean it, but the truth is…The truth is Henry’s been on countless dates, Henry’s been looking, and no one’s ever been looking back. He doesn’t want to let himself hope that Felix might be, because Henry’s never been looked at before. It’d be too good to be true. He’s been granted a night, day, and what might be another night of truly fantastic, mindblowing, seeing the face of God sex, and that’s been enough of a miracle. Letting himself hope that it might be more and losing it?

It’d be more than Henry could take.

He closes his eyes, leans back against the same wall where Felix first kissed him. “What if it’s easier to just get out now?” He asks. “Get out now and I’ll be upset, I’ll think about it, _him_ , for far too long but I’ll get over it. I will. What if I let this happen and I get my heart broken?”

“ _Kid_ ,” Emma says, sad, soft. “ _When have you ever done the easy thing_?”

Henry’s laugh sounds more like a sob.

“Mom…”

“ _Henry, I don’t know this guy. I can’t tell you whether or not he’s going to break your heart. But you can’t break your own heart for him. That’s not you, kid. What happened to the little boy who all but pushed me out the door on my first date with Killian?_ ”

“A string of rejections happened to him,” Henry mutters, smiles bitterly. “And as I recall, I _did_ push you out the door.”

“ _I was scared, too. Just like you. You made me take that chance. Do yourself the same favour, kid_.”

“One of these days you’ve got to stop calling me ‘kid’, y’know?” Henry says rather than answer, and Emma breathes a gentle laugh.

“ _When you stop coming to me for help, kid, then you’ve got yourself a deal_.”

“Thanks, Mom,” He says, quiet.

“ _Anytime. I love you, Henry_.”

“I love you, too.”  He says, and hangs up.

He goes back inside.

 

***

 

They get through a movie without starting anything, mainly because Henry actually falls asleep against Felix’s chest without meaning to and wakes up feeling mortified, flushing hotly, but Felix just smiles quietly, clings a kiss to his cheekbone, and tells him what he missed in the movie.

They chat quietly after the movie’s ended, Felix muting the repetitive loop of the menu screen to listen to Henry talk about his course, and Henry stammers over his complaint about the latest paper his professor’s set them all. He’s never had someone actively listen to him for so long before who wasn’t his mom. Felix tells him about his friends, and his face lights up when he talks about them, hands moving as he tells his stories.

“No!”

“Yes, two in the morning and we’re running from the police just because Peter has zero impulse control and I’m not physically capable of leaving him to be an idiot alone.” Felix laughs, voice fond. They’ve migrated to sitting opposite each other, Henry cross-legged while Felix still manages an effortless drape of his body as he leans against the back of the couch.

“You must be close,” Henry says, and it doesn’t feel enough.

“There’s not a word to describe what Peter is to me,” Felix says, grins lazily. “I can’t remember a time when he _wasn’t_ around to get me into trouble.” The hand he has laying on his thigh moves, collects up Henry’s and presses their palms together. Felix looks at them, laces their fingers together. “He’ll like you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He’ll try and be an asshole for a while, but that’s just Peter. When he sees how much I like you, he’ll stop.”

The embarrassing noise Henry makes at that is lost when Felix leans forward to kiss him, tipping his head back, licking slowly into his mouth, and Henry lets himself be pushed back into the couch, Felix settling between his legs and his whole delicious weight falling on top of Henry as Felix kisses and kisses him.

Henry doesn’t know what brought it on, but he takes everything Felix gives him and tries to give it back tenfold. He doesn’t know if he succeeds, but Felix presses closer to him, hand sliding under Henry’s head to change the angle of the kiss, deepening, and Henry’s hands move to Felix’s ass, hold him there.

There’s no intent behind it, it’s not going anywhere. It could, Henry knows, if he were to shift one leg or roll his hips, he’s almost certain they’ll end up rutting on the couch, frenzied. But it’s nice, simply kissing and being kissed, feeling his mouth grower redder and redder under Felix’s and the contractions of Felix’s fingers in his hair.

When it ticks around to the time they have to leave, they’re both a bit of a mess, hair dishevelled and mouths bruised. Felix’s lips are a sinfully wet red that Henry feels incredibly proud of achieving, and he can only imagine what he himself looks like, pulling on yesterday’s crumpled jeans and shirt because while Felix’s shirt might be comfortable and soft against his skin, it’s much too big for him.

Felix kisses him again in the elevator down, and it’s strange, breaking out into the dim early evening light. Like they’ve left the small universe they’ve created for themselves in Felix’s apartment, the bubble of _them_ that for the most part locked out the rest of the world. It feels slightly strange, like coming up for air after so long underwater, fresh and exposed, but barely anything changes. Felix’s hand finds Henry’s as they walk.

The girl at the door of the club obviously recognises Felix, nods him in, but Henry has to show ID and get his hand stamped. They don’t have to pay an admission fee, which Henry supposes is due to Felix, and Felix leads him inside, stepping easily through the dim lighting of the entrance and into the bar itself.

“You come here a lot?” He asks when Felix signals at the bartender, an attractive floppy haired brunette boy who returns the easy gesture.

“I work here sometimes,” He says as they come up to the bar. “Pockets,” The bartender saunters over. Henry feels himself being sized up, does his best to meet this Pockets’ gaze. “Peter here yet?”

“What do you think?” Pockets looks away from Henry and grins madly. “He’ll turn up ten minutes after the start time, smile a little, and the audience will forgive him everything. Everyone else is backstage.”

Felix nods, then turns to Henry. “Henry, this is Pockets. Pockets, Henry.”

“Nice to meet you,” Pockets nods, but he’s looking at Felix now, incredulous. “Nice to see you letting loose a bit, Fee,” He says, raises an eyebrow, but raises his hands in surrender when Felix shoots him a look. “Two drinks?”

“Please,” Felix says, teeth bared a little in a way that every cell in Henry’s body finds insanely attractive.

No money exchanges hands, and the cup Henry gets his drink in is slightly sticky, but it’s warm down his throat as he drinks it. He sucks some of the stickiness off his thumb, and Felix’s eyes zero in on it.

There’s a pair of double doors leading off the small bar area, and people have been walking in and out enough that Henry’s already gotten a glimpse of a larger room through there, a small stage area set up and a crowd already milling about. It’s even dimmer inside, the only lights centred on the stage, and they find a place to stand.

In the strange not-light of the room, Felix’s face is lit up differently, sharper and darker, the spikes of his hair casting pointed shadows across his face. He looks almost dangerous, and Henry gulps to imagine trying to order a drink with Felix waiting on the other side of the bar, lit up and edged like this. His mouth goes dry and he takes a large drink to try and whet it.

The drink’s strong, warming him up, and Henry’s never been able to hold his alcohol but he’s certain that it’s the closeness of Felix that’s making him feel dizzy as the room gets darker and darker. A girl with mad hair comes onto the stage, settles at the keyboard, and Henry knows immediately that this is the Rufio Felix told him about. She’s followed by a girl with blonde hair, bare feet, and a bass slung across her hips, walking across the stage toe to heel, reminding Henry of both a ballet dancer and a wild animal. He doesn’t need Felix’s voice in his ear to identify her as Wendy. A boy joins them both, wide smile and bouncing, and Felix mutters “Tootles.” as he slides behind the drum set at the back.

“Do you play?” Henry asks as the musicians carry on prepping, leaning back against Felix, and Felix’s arm wraps around his waist, hand settling warm under his shirt. They sway slightly.

“The basics of things. Enough to sub in if Wendy’s out,” He says, shrugging, and Henry tries not to think about Felix’s hands fingering at guitar chords, fails.

“You’re impossible,” He says, and Felix must hear him because he presses a kiss to Henry’s hair.

Rufio starts picking out a low tune, a slow build, on the keyboard, gradually getting louder, and when the low notes of bass start filtering in, the babble of the crowd starts to mute. The drums kick in, a steady crescendo building, and Henry can feel every note deep in his chest, presses back to Felix and rests his head against him.

The stage lights flare once, and a figure strides onto stage, stepping to the mic as the room edges back into dimness again, and almost everything goes quiet, the sheer presence of the singer walking into the crescendo impossible not to look at.

Light brown hair lit up under the lights, long limbs and sinuous movements, he looks unearthly, like a creature with teeth and claws, from a fairy tale. There’s a ferocity to him even as he stands there, eyes sweeping hooded across the crowd as his foot taps to the beat he’s being given, and when he speaks into the mic, his voice is velvet.

“Let’s play,” He smirks, and

“Peter tends to have that effect,” Felix says into Henry’s ear, amused, while Henry gapes.

Every conversation has stopped as Peter sings. He has to be professional, Henry thinks, with a voice like that, smoky and soaring, and Henry’s captivated. It’s a song about running away and staring up at the stars, and Henry presses back against Felix, breath caught in his chest.

“He’s incredible.”

“He’s Peter.”

Felix hums against him and it takes Henry a second to realise he’s humming along, rocking slightly to the beat and Henry sways with him, hand resting on top of the one Felix has at his waist, Felix’s chin hooks over Henry’s shoulder and the humming is pressed against Henry’s neck, vibrating through him in tandem to the music of the speakers, and Henry’s groan is swallowed by the noise.

Felix’s fingers strum against him, unconscious, and Henry sucks on his bottom lip.

“You smell like me,” Felix says, very close to his ear, the smooth whisper of his lips dragging against Henry as he speaks. Henry goes still, but Felix keeps them swaying, loosely, hips slotted against Henry’s. “It’s making it hard to focus.”

His thumb slips through the buttons of Henry’s shirt, strokes slow at the skin there.

“Yeah?” He says, grins, and turns his head. Felix is a bare inch away from him, presses closer and smiles. The band plays on but all Henry can hear is the low sound of Felix’s voice.

“Yes. It’s hard to be a supportive friend when all I can think about is having you right here and now.” Felix’s eyes are dark, holding Henry, and Henry’s the one to break it, turning to face the stage again.

He fights to keep his expression neutral. “And how’s that?” He asks, and feels Felix’s mouth quirk against his cheek. He feels buoyant, levitating. It might be the alcohol in his drink, the thrum of the band and Peter’s voice, but Henry’s knows better. It’s Felix. Felix makes him feel like this, makes him feel bold.

“Against the wall, maybe?” Felix offers, _purrs_. “I could have you like I did in the shower, back against me as I’m fucking you. I’d have you clawing at the _walls_. But I think I’d prefer you face to face. I’d like to see how long I can hold you up.”

Henry groans out at the mental image that conjures, Felix hitching him up against the wall and fucking up into him. He wants Felix inside him, wants to hold him there and watch Felix’s face. Wants to feel the burn of him, feel full up and taken over.

He says it, almost off-hand, and hears Felix groan a little behind him, shifts his body so he’s leaning his weight against Felix. He wishes he wasn’t still holding his drink, so he could reach up and tangle a hand in Felix’s hair, doesn’t want to let go of the hand Felix is steadily moving against his abdomen, dipping slightly with every sway.

The band starts playing their second song, or is it their third? Henry’s barely aware of anything other than Felix, Felix, _Felix_.

When Felix speaks again, there’s a rumble of arousal in his voice that makes Henry shiver. “You’d have to keep your thighs locked around me, Henry, could you do that? One hand on your thigh, the other opening you up for me, could you keep still long enough for me to get inside you?”

“You want me to be still?” Henry challenges and Felix delivers a swift kiss behind his ear.

“Just long enough for my fingers to loosen you up. But I’d take my time, finger you open until all you can do it _beg_ for me. I want to see how long you can hold still, how long it takes me to break your composure.”

If Henry weren’t so incredibly turned on right now, he’d laugh. Henry doesn’t have anything that even resembles composure when it comes to Felix.

“I would,” He says, sips at his drink in an effort to look like he’s not getting harder and harder in his jeans with every pant of Felix’s breath at his neck. “Beg you, that is. If you wanted. If you like that. Beg you to fuck me, beg for your cock pressing inside me. I wouldn’t be quiet.”

“I know,” Felix scrapes his teeth at him. “I bet you’d beg so nicely as well, my name on your lips until I have to taste it, feel you moan it into my mouth. I’m not sure I’d be able to deny you anything after that. I’d push inside you, open for me but still so tight, warm. _Then_ , you could move.”

Henry’s breath hitches when Felix shifts, moves them in a slow grind and he’s just as hard as Henry is. It makes Henry feel powerful.

Felix isn’t done. “God, you’d be gorgeous. Fucking yourself on me. Your _hips_. I’d have to hold onto them, bruise you up.” He breaks off to suck at Henry’s neck, hard enough that Henry’s knees nearly buckle. “It’s what I wanted to do in the shower this morning. I’ve been thinking about it all day. Being inside of you.”

“Fuck,” Henry breathes.

“That’s the plan,” Felix laughs softly. “Will you let me, Henry? Let me slide inside and fuck you until you can’t even say my name?”

‘Let’. Like Henry’s granting him a favour, not barely holding onto his restraint to keep from turning and _ruining_ Felix’s mouth.

“Pick a wall,” Henry says instead, and when Felix laughs again, it’s shaky.

There’s applause, loud and thunderous, and Henry snaps back into reality. This razor-sharp focus on another person is utterly foreign to Henry. He’s never felt so magnetised, so drawn to another person’s breath and body. They’ve missed most of the first half, and Henry would be sad about that, he would, except that everything’s become secondary when he has Felix pressed against him.

“There’s a bathroom,” Felix says when they’ve both finished clapping, when Peter’s called for the break and the noise is dying down. His voice is still low beneath the easy chatter that swells up in the absence of music, but it roars in Henry’s ears. “Near the bar…”

Heat surges through Henry’s body. He’s never been like this before, with barely a thought for ramifications and consequences, but he thinks he likes it. And now, once the idea of the bathroom’s been mentioned, Henry can’t get it out of his head.

“ _Yes?_ ” He says, breathes, and he really, really, wants to be kissing Felix right now.

“Finish your drink,” Felix says. “And meet me there.”

He ghosts a kiss over Henry’s cheek and, with a hand pressed to his hip, disappears.

Henry has to fight to stay upright, without the weight of Felix holding him up.

He tries to drink his drink at a normal pace, and when he finishes his mouth is sticky, his body alight, and his pulse hammering. The bar is fairly crowded, but people are starting to filter back into the main room in anticipation of the second half. Henry finds the bathroom empty, whether by chance or design, he’s not sure, but the cubicle on the end is locked.

He hesitates, and knocks.

It’s a tiny, single occupant bathroom with terrible lighting and a white sink, but Henry’s barely sees it because Felix is _on him_ , pinning him back against the door and licking hot and sure into Henry’s mouth. Felix’s hands are on Henry’s wrists, pulling them up above his head and holding them to the wall so Henry can’t do anything except let himself be kissed, Felix’s hips pressing him against the door.

Felix keeps doing that, kissing and pinning, and Henry’s body is on fire.

Felix eases back, the deep kisses becoming slower, less frantic, until he’s sipping at Henry’s mouth, lingering.

“Hey,” He says, when he releases Henry to breathe, and Henry laughs softly.

“You’ve got a thing about bathrooms, haven’t you?”

Felix shakes his head, sucks at Henry’s bottom lip.

“Not bathrooms.”

Henry doesn’t know what to do with that, so he cants his hips, watches Felix’s eyelashes flutter, and bites down on his bottom lip as Felix’s fingers unclasp from his wrists, trail down his arms, maddeningly soft, and dance along his ribs. Henry’s head thumps back into the door when Felix’s thumbs find the snap on his jeans, wasting no time.

They’ve waited long enough.

Felix gets Henry’s jeans down, down, hitches Henry’s leg up to pull one jean leg off, and they groan at the contact this new position brings, the denim of Felix’s jeans brushing hard against where Henry’s tented in his boxers.

Felix moves to pull his boxers down, off, and Henry’s breathing heavily but he gets out “Not- Not all the way. Too long. Felix, _fuck_.”

“Impatient,” Felix notes, but complies, gets his shorts down far enough that his cock springs free, and the air is warm against him, their body heat warm and slick in the air, making Henry’s vision blur at the edges as Felix strokes him, once, twice, swift and sure.

Felix pulls back, lets Henry’s leg slide back to the floor, and Henry feels wanton, bared to the air and sagging against the door, as Felix’s hands make quick work of his own jeans, underwear, pushes to mid thigh, before he’s back against Henry.

He kisses him, open mouthed and filthy, and Henry’s more panting hotly into Felix’s mouth by the time Felix gets one arm around his lower back, the other under his ass, and hoists him up in one fluid motion. Henry _drags_ against Felix and clutches at his shoulders as he locks his feet behind his back.

Henry’s mouth moves to Felix’s throat, smudges hard kisses into the skin, the crook of his neck, and he stutters when Felix’s first finger breaches him. It’s cool and slippery, sliding into him with an ease that’s ridiculous, his entire body so eager, so welcoming, for Felix.

“You- God, Felix, you brought lube, fuck I-“

“Didn’t want to get caught out again,” Felix’s voice is as amused as it can be when he’s curling his finger inside Henry, thumb circling at his rim. “I need to be inside you. _Now_.” He kisses it into Henry’s mouth, and Henry tips his head back to let Felix at his throat, keens when Felix strokes at him.

His hips move back against Felix’s hand when he adds a second finger, and Felix stops. “ _Still_ ,” He instructs, and Henry nods mutely, eyes screwing shut.

“Do you need a third?” Felix asks after a maddening stretch of time. Henry’s bottom lip is wrecked from biting down, trying to keep himself from moving against the pace Felix has set inside him

Henry shakes his head. “ _Felix-_ ”

Felix shushes him, quiet and soft, and slides his fingers out of him. The muscles of Felix’s arms flex from holding him up, shifting his weight as he takes one hand off of Henry and slips it between them, gets a hand on himself and rolls a condom on, brought out from god knows where. He doesn’t even stop to tease Henry with the head of him before entering him and

_Oh_

Felix is large and slick and new, filling Henry up as he pushes in, in, in. Henry’s eyes roll back and his body is opening up and up for everything Felix is. There’s sweat on the jut of Felix’s collarbone when he presses his forehead there, and Henry moves to lick it away, salty and sharp, bites down as Felix bottoms out inside him.

Felix is shaking.

“Okay?” Henry asks, lifting his head to push against Felix’s cheek. Felix nods, kisses sloppy at the corner of his mouth, and Henry

_Moves._

Small circles of his hips, getting used to the sensation of Felix inside of him. Only he doesn’t need to get used to it. He just _needs_ it. Needs Felix.

He rocks up, using the hands he has on Felix’s shoulders for leverage, and that’s about the last logical thought he has before instinct takes over and his hips snap, riding Felix like he’s dying. Felix’s hands find his hips, creating the bruises he promised him, and then Felix is pushing up into him, pushing him further and further up the wall, and Henry has to let go, has to scrabble at the door that’s banging behind him with their staccato rhythm.

Henry’s own voice echoes back to him off the close corners of the cubicle, climbing octaves as Felix drives into him, and they’re fucking in an empty bathroom, crazed and frantic and it feels, it feels

It feels loving, and Henry feels wanted and desired and _claimed_. Henry feels like Felix’s, and even if it’s just for now, it’s everything.

His hands find Felix’s neck, and at this angle he’s above him, looking down at the shape of Felix’s mouth as he moves, the shadows of his eyes even as he tips his head back and up to meet Henry’s mouth, pushes spit-slick lips into his, and Henry clasps at him, kisses him.

It’s too much, too close, and he puts too much into the kiss, but right now it feels just right, it _feels_ right.

They break apart, and don’t look away from each other, passing the same air back and forth as they keep moving, and Henry feels his orgasm rush over him, untouched, in a flood of heat, from his toes to the top of his head, pulled out of him. He cries out Felix’s name, and that sends Felix over, pupils contracting and blowing wide, and he looks at Henry in something close to awe as he comes, shuddering.

They never close their eyes.

Felix whispers Henry’s name as he catches his breath, _breathes_ it into Henry’s throat as he finally breaks eye contact and buries his face there. Henry’s hands find Felix’s hair, stroke gently.

“Wow,” He says, and they’re still connected, Felix still inside him, so Felix’s weak chuckle vibrates through Henry like aftershocks.

“I don’t know,” He says absently, though he kisses at Henry’s neck as he does it. “You could still say my name.”

“Felix,” Henry says, and Felix lifts his head to look at him, hearing the too honest note in Henry’s voice. But Henry’s fucked out and flying on it, feels glorious and _loved_. Fucking loved. “I think if I forgot everything else, I would still remember your name.”

The kiss Felix gives him at that aches in Henry’s chest.

 

***

 

It takes them a while to come down.

This time Felix is just as hazy as Henry is, and they trade lazy kisses for a few minutes, both completely unwilling to separate. But eventually Felix has to pull out and Henry gets his feet back under himself like he’s been at sea for months and is trying to find his land legs all over again.

“Oh, god,” Henry mutters, looking down at the sticky mess he’s made of his shirt, laughs because he can’t not, weak and leaning his forehead against Felix’s annoyingly clean shirt.

“Come here,” Felix says, voice fond, and strips him out of it. “How attached are you to this shirt?”

Henry actually quite likes that shirt. He never did before, but he thinks that maybe now it should count as a Lucky Shirt or something like that. Which is ridiculous and he’s not telling Felix _that_.

Felix balls it up and throws it in the corner of the stall, and Henry blushes to think that someone might find it, but Felix promises to lock the stall from the outside, come back for it later and he calms a little. Felix chuckles at his fussing, and Henry swats ineffectually at him. Felix catches his hand, kisses his palm.

Fuck, what is he going to do with this boy?

Felix hands him the hoodie he was wearing earlier, pulled from where Henry doesn’t even know, and Henry zips it up gratefully. It’s too large on him, and he’s certain that the marks Felix has left across his shoulders are on display, but the look in Felix’s eyes when he looks him over is enough to make him feel less self-conscious.

They struggle back into their jeans, soft laughter trickling out of them in the come down of adrenaline, and-

Henry’s just shouted down a public restroom in a bar he’s never been in before with Felix’s closest friends in the next room. And Henry always looks like he’s been fucked after sex, there’s going to be no hiding this.

Oh god.

He can feel himself _blushing_ , right to his hair. Henry’s never been quiet, he doesn’t know how to be, and when the sex is good he just can’t _help_ it. Sex with Felix is earth-shattering.

Henry doesn’t expect his voice to last much longer if this continues.

“Henry.” It’s amazing, the way his name sounds like a full sentence in Felix’s mouth. He looks up and Felix cups his cheek with a broad hand. He doesn’t kiss him, looks at him, and it’s soothing, the cool blue eyes of him, intense focus solely on Henry. “It’s fine. I promise.”

Henry breathes, and Felix unlocks the door.

The bar’s empty but for the bartender, all back in the main room as the band plays again. It’s not Pockets this time. This time it’s a red-haired girl who’s silently cleaning a glass, but when she catches sight of Felix, she grins wide enough that it hurts Henry’s mouth to look at it.

“Felix!” She exclaims, and the only reason she doesn’t drop the glass in her enthusiasm at seeing him is because Felix’s hand darts out and catches it, practised, just before he catches her as she leaps into his arms.

Felix makes an _oof_ sound, and Henry ducks to hide his smile.

“Missed you, too, Curly,” He tells the bartender, Curly, holding her up with one arm as she hugs him tightly. Henry’s heard about Curly, heard her name in quite a few of the stories Felix traded with him this morning, a bubbly and smiley character that had charmed Henry even through Felix’s account, and he immediately likes her for the way she makes Felix’s eyes go soft when she pulls back and grins at him.

Then she wrinkles her nose, drops back down to her feet. “You smell of sex,” She says, and Henry chokes.

Curly’s eyes snap to him and light up. “You didn’t tell us you were dating anyone, Felix!” She accuses, grin widening beyond belief, and she’s looking at Henry, misses the smile that Felix gets.

“It’s pretty new,” He grins, and Henry tries, and fails, to bite down his own smile.

Curly hums, shooting Felix a look that’s somehow admonishing, amused and fond all at once, and bounces forward, hands rising up to cup Henry’s face as she looks at him, intently. Assessing.

“Urm, Curls,” Felix says, but she shushes him, eyes not leaving Henry’s.

Henry stays still. He doesn’t exactly know what to do.

“I like him,” She declares, and presses a kiss to his forehead before releasing him. It feels like a benediction, and even if Henry’s never met anyone quite so bizarrely, he smiles. It’s already very hard not to like Curly.

Felix raises an eyebrow. “Thank you for your approval.”

She waves his drawl off. “You know what I mean,” She says, and it’d be huffy if she weren’t still grinning, madly. “We have to look out for you, Felix.”

“I thought that was my job,” Felix counters, and Curly sighs, smile slipping a little.

“You look after us, Felix. You’re not great at looking after you.” And she goes, slipping back under the bar and through a door, leaving Henry and Felix in the empty bar.

Felix opens his mouth, shuts it, then opens it again. “So, that was Curly,” He says, finally, and there’s a pinkness rising on his cheeks that is so adorable it’s unfair.

“That was Curly,” Henry agrees, because he’s not sure there’s another way to describe what just happened, and the moment stringing out between them breaks on a laugh. Felix’s hand finds Henry’s hip, pulls him in close, and he presses a kiss to Henry’s temple.

“C’mon, there’s still a few songs left,” He says, and though they linger, just for a second, bodies pressed together and Felix’s lips still at Henry’s hairline, they go.

There’s only one song left, actually, but Henry doesn’t even have to pretend to listen, enraptured even with Felix’s arms around his waist, chin on his shoulder, as Peter pulls them through octaves of a wrenching, melancholy number about not enough, never enough, we’ll never be enough and I’ll never be enough for you, so I can never say. Peter’s cheeks are glistening by the end, lit up by the spotlights, and when the room goes dark, Henry’s breath falls out of him.

“Told you they were good,” Felix hums, almost smug, voice still lazy and fucked out.

“ _Good?”_ A voice from behind punctures through, and it’s Peter, hair slick with sweat and eyes dancing. He’s just as eye-catching here as he was on stage, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. “Felix, love, I’m wounded.”

Felix pulls back so he’s less leaning against Henry and merely standing close at his back. His hand moves to Henry’s hip and holds there rather than moving away entirely. “You were flat.”

“Fuck you, I was perfect.” Peter’s laugh is loud, bright, infectious. “So, who’s this?” He looks Henry up and down in a way that lets Henry know that Peter has already spotted him before this, probably already made a decision on him. Henry’s honestly not sure whether that’s good or bad right now.

“Henry, this is Peter,” Felix says, and the hand on Henry’s hip moves to lace through Henry’s hand, thumb stroking slowly. “Peter, be nice.”

Peter makes a noise in the back of his throat that’s neither a yes or a no, but Felix seems to accept it.  Then he says, “Felix, be a doll and fuck off for a while.” eyes still clamped on Henry.

Henry hopes that the embarrassing terrified noise he hiccups at that is swallowed by the noise of the crowd.

The look in Peter’s eyes tells him it wasn’t.

“ _Peter_ -“

“Curly needs help at the bar, anyway,” Peter says, waving a hand absently, and he finally looks away from Henry’s face to turn a much more honest and sincere expression on Felix. Henry’s breath catches at it.

The songs he’d seen Peter perform had run through a plethora of emotions that had tugged on the heartstrings of every audience member.

They have nothing on the way he looks at Felix.

“I just want to talk to him. I’ll be nice, I promise.” He turns to look at Henry. “If that’s okay with you?”

It’s a question, and Henry knows somehow that Peter won’t push it if he refuses. But there’s also something telling him that refusing would be a monumentally stupid thing to do.

“It’s okay with me,” He agrees, and something flickers in Peter’s eyes. It’d be approval if Henry weren’t so very sure that Peter’s reserving all judgment right now. “It’s okay,” He assures Felix when he turns to look at him, a slight crease in his forehead.

“Curly really does need help at the bar.”

Felix raises an eyebrow at Peter, but goes with a nod and a quick kiss to Henry’s cheek. Henry closes his eyes under Felix’s mouth, and lets the kiss burn courage into his chest. He has a feeling he might be needing it.

He waits.

“Felix doesn’t date,” Is what Peter says first, and it shoves a knife into Henry’s chest before it even fully registers. “He has sex. Occasionally. Not as much as he could, or _should_ , because lord knows he could stand to loosen up every once in a while. But he doesn’t date.”

Then Peter frowns, looking intently at Henry, and suddenly Henry feels stripped. “He’s never brought anyone here before, though. I’ve been Felix’s brother since before I can fully remember, and he’s never introduced me to anyone he’s sleeping with. No one’s ever mattered enough. So, obviously, _you_ matter.”

Henry tries to speak, but there’s something in his throat. His heart, maybe, or his breath.

It’s too much, too much to hope, too much to believe in what Peter’s telling him.

“He likes you. And if Felix likes someone, he doesn’t play games. He’s _in_. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you like him, too, but-“ Peter cuts himself off with an exhale.

He’s not finished.

“I’m not sure if I know how to love things,” His voice is conversational, but there’s a knife’s edge balancing on it. “But I know that I love Felix. And if you’re just in this to fuck him and fuck off, I’m going to make sure you never see him again.”

Peter stops, waiting, and there’s something in his eyes that’s begging for Henry to prove him wrong now.

“I’ve known Felix for just over twenty four hours now,” Henry starts, slowly, considering his words carefully, because this, this is _important_. He doesn’t miss the surprised quirk of Peter’s eyebrow, but he ignores it. “But I want _more_.”

He doesn’t really know how to sum up everything Felix makes him feel, deep in his bones, full in his chest, sparking in his brain. But he thinks that that gets pretty close. He wants more of Felix. He wants everything. He wants to know the story behind every tattoo and scar, he wants to learn the way Felix takes his coffee, how Felix looks when he’s just waking up in the mornings. He wants Felix’s hand in his, wants to hear the way Felix sounds on long late-night phone calls, wants to see if the quiet humour he has will come across in texts and notes left behind. He wants to take Felix home, fuck him in his bed, see him sitting on Henry’s couch.

He wants more than a weekend of Felix.

It’s not a realisation, because he’s been stubbornly pushing down these thoughts, these hopes and wants, since meeting Felix. But allowing himself to think them, under the possibility that he might _get_ some of them? It’s staggering. He wants to stagger.

If Henry weren’t so caught up in it, the way Peter’s face breaks into a smile would be breath taking. “ _Good_ ,” He breathes, voice gentler than it’s been all night. “I haven’t seen him smile like that for a while. It’d be a real shame if you turned out to be an asshole. All the cute ones usually are.”

Henry’d laugh if he wasn’t trying so hard to get his heartbeat under control.

“But you seem nice. Sweet. So I’m going to do you a favour and give you some advice: Don’t fuck it up. Tell him that.”

“I don’t- I’ve never-“ Henry starts, but cuts himself off, because he is _not_ getting into personal issues with a stranger he’s just met. Although, that _does_ seem to be the theme of the weekend thus far.

Even if he doesn’t say the words, he gets the feeling that Peter hears them anyway. “Felix is one of the good ones, kid, I promise. The best. Now, come on, let me buy you a drink.”

“You buy drinks?” Henry asks, sceptical, before he can think about it, and he blushes to the roots of his hair when Peter arches an eyebrow at him.

But then Peter’s face breaks into a delighted laugh. “I _like_ you.” His nose scrunches up in a grin as he throws an arm around Henry’s shoulder, pulling him with him. Henry goes, smiling, because it feels easy all of a sudden. “And, no. Never. But lets see which of my adoring public will be willing to buy me and the hot piece of ass on my arm something to drink, shall we?”

The bar is packed and noisy when they push through into the next room, Henry can’t even see Felix, but the crowd parts a little for Peter, and where it doesn’t he utilises some creative techniques to push his way through to the front, bringing Henry along with him. They break through and Peter leans against the bar as if he’s got all the space in the world to sprawl out, an impression Henry’s sure Peter is under most of the time, and he’s probably right.

Curly slides them two drinks before Peter can even finish his careful perusal of the crowds around them, and he thanks her with a sweet kiss to her cheek, eyes flickering from pointed and cat-like to soft and loving as soon as he turns them on her. They don’t leave the bar, though, and Henry’s really _really_ glad because this close, he can see Felix.

Henry knows, Henry _knows_ , how talented Felix’s hands are. Only now he’s watching them fly over bottles, twisting and turning fluidly, jamming shakers onto glasses and pouring colourful cocktails over ice and handing them to customers like it’s a dancehall and not a bar.

His hair is falling a little into his eyes, and he blows it away, grinning at Curly as she dances by him to the low background music filtering through the speakers, chatting with the a trio of girls at the end of the bar - two Henry recognises from the band, and a third equally gorgeous one - as he moves, and Henry’s seen Felix in a thousand different ways already, but this is another one, in his element, surrounded by his friends.

“You alright there, Henry? You look a little fuckstruck.” Peter’s voice is dry, amused, and loud enough that Felix looks up, spots them at the other end of the bar. There’s a second where he takes them in, then a small smile crosses his lips and he ducks his head, turns back to finish the drink he’s making before heading over to them.

“Hey.” He slides his forearms onto the bar, leans, and it’s the first time Henry’s been at eyelevel with him this whole time. Strands of his blonde hair stick to his forehead with sweat, and his eyes are bright.

“Hi.”

“God, this is sickening,” Peter sighs, and knocks back the last of his drink. “Take your boy back home, Felix. Before you end up fucking in the bathrooms again. _Yes_ , I know about that,” He says when Felix opens his mouth. Henry feels himself blush, but can’t stop smiling nonetheless. “You’ve done your duty for the night. I’ll take over.”

Felix is _blushing_ , but he’s smiling at Henry all the same, eyes soft. And all Henry can think about is what Peter said, about Felix being _In_ , and he really, really, hopes that that’s true. Henry doesn’t know how he’ll be able to go about not being looked at like that ever again.

“ _Go_ ,” Peter tells them, ducking under the bar. He leans in close to Felix’s ear, but says loud enough that Henry can hear, “I like him, Fee,” before he gets dragged into the madness of the crowd calling for drinks.

It’s loud enough in the bar that they’re afforded a modicum of privacy as Felix turns back to Henry, bites down on his bottom lip. “You want to go?”

All Henry can think about right now is sucking the alcohol off of Felix’s fingertips, kissing him hard enough that maybe he’ll understand everything Henry’s feeling without him saying it. Yes, he’s ready to go.

They pass a pair of blonde girls standing either side of the doors as they leave, and there’s no way they’re anywhere _near_ twenty one, but they recognise Felix immediately, hostile stances relaxing into joyous bounces as they simultaneously throw themselves at Felix.

Henry’s getting the impression that Felix’s friends are many and every one of them is utterly enamoured with him.

Henry’s smiling when one of the girls, twins he notices, pulls back and notices him. She hits her sister, and they both peer at him, silently. Identical wicked grins crack across their faces, and they start elbowing each other, gleeful.

“Alright,” Felix says, exasperated but endlessly fond, and disconnects them from his waist. “ _Goodnight_ , girls.”

“Goodnight, Felix,” one says, before cackling, and the other follows it up with “Yeah, have a _great_ night, Felix.”

“Come on,” Felix grabs Henry’s hand and pulls him away, out the door, but he’s grinning, and Henry’s laughing, and they stop outside the bar to laugh, Felix pressing Henry up against a lamp post and grinning down at him.

It’s easy, it’s so easy, to press up on his toes and kiss Felix, gentle and soft, and he opens his mouth to Felix, tastes his laughter and feels full up from the inside out.

“I like your friends,” He says when they break apart, because he had. And even if he hadn’t, he’d have liked them for the way they all love Felix.

Felix’s smile is breathtaking, and he dips back to steal one last kiss from Henry before they start walking, hand in hand.

“They liked you,” He says, and there’s a note in his voice that Henry can easily identify.

“Surprised?” He questions, knocking slightly into Felix to hide the sudden tremor in his heart.

It doesn’t fool Felix, who catches Henry’s other hand and pulls them to a stop. “I’ve never introduced them to anyone before,” He says, serious, and even if Henry already knew this, it still catches in his throat, to see the complete sincerity in Felix’s eyes. “I saw it, you know? The look on your face, the way you looked at me this afternoon, when I told you I liked you. I’ve never seen anyone look so surprised before. Was it really that surprising?”

Henry’s voice is weak. “We’ve only just met. You don’t _know_ me.”

Felix doesn’t know all the ways Henry is difficult to love.

Felix sighs, shoulders dropping, but when he presses a hand to Henry’s neck, strokes his thumb there, he’s still smiling. Even if it’s a little softer, a little sadder. Henry can’t help pushing into his touch. “I know enough.”

And maybe it’s the buzz of alcohol in his blood, Peter’s advice, or the fact that it’s just been that kind of weekend, but it’s probably mostly the way Felix is looking at him, soft and sincere, that has Henry closing his eyes, just for a second, and _pushing_ away the doubts in his head.

“I think I know enough, too.”

Felix smiles, _happy_. Henry’s made him happy, and that’s how he knows he’s made the right decision in pushing past that line.

They walk back to Felix’s apartment, occasionally stopping so Felix can kiss down Henry’s neck, or so Henry can kiss at the smile that’s still on Felix’s face, and they’re like teenagers, Henry’s hands at Felix’s neck, Felix’s under Henry’s shirt, but by the time they get back to Felix’s apartment complex, and Felix has Henry pressed against the same arch where he kissed him for the first time, they’ve slowed, kisses becoming soft, lingering, until they’re closed-mouthed, tapering out until they’re just breathing each other’s air, watching each other quietly.

When they get back upstairs, they’re happy to stumble and kiss their way into bed, stripping off enough clothes that they could easily, _easily_ , start something if they wanted to. Felix is gorgeous in the evening light, the moon lighting up every inch of him, glinting off the nipple ring that Henry still hasn’t had ample opportunity to appreciate, and he’s tempted to do so right now. But if he’s being honest, he’s still worn out from the bathroom, hides a yawn behind his hand, and the kiss Felix gives him is just as sleepy. Henry smiles into the kiss, content.

Henry…Henry hasn’t just slept with someone, gone to sleep with them, in a long time. He remembers his first boyfriend in freshman year, how when they’d shared the tiny college dorm beds, and how there’s so much more space in Felix’s bed.

Henry knows he’s a cuddler, likes to be wrapped up and to bury his face in another person and breathe them in. He’s had past boyfriends complain about it, knows that most people don’t like it. He can’t remember falling asleep with Felix last night, can’t remember anything past the haziness of his orgasm, the vague memory of being tucked under the covers. He doesn’t know what Felix is comfortable with.

But once they’re under the covers, Felix presses up behind him, tight, and his arm slides around Henry’s waist, hand resting long fingered and wide on the skin of his stomach. Henry’s hand finds it, and Felix laces their fingers together, presses a kiss to the side of Henry’s neck and rests there.

Their chests rise and fall, their legs tangle, and they fit together like opposite puzzle pieces slotting into place. Yes, Henry thinks, this is enough, and he

Sleeps.

 

***

 

They don’t wake up until late morning. Henry’s a student, doesn’t really know how to operate anything that has an AM affixed to it, and the ‘odd-jobs’ Felix had mentioned yesterday had all fallen into the realms of bartender/waiter/occasional criminal, none of which are very conducive to day light hours. So it’s a lazy waking up. Felix running a small series of kisses across Henry’s shoulders, stopping just to breath him in, before resting his head back between his shoulder blades, dozing a little while longer. Henry watching the sun cross Felix’s windows from the warm embrace of Felix’s arms, playing absently with his hands, half asleep again when Felix starts nosing up his neck.

He hisses when Felix’s teeth come into play, nipping at the skin there. They’re both hard, in the way that mornings always ensure, but it’s been negligible thus far, falling second to the warmth of Felix’s body, the haziness of sleep.

Now, when Felix starts sucking at him – Henry’s going to have so many hickeys after this weekend, it’ll be like high school all over again – the arousal creeps in, curls in his stomach.

“Breakfast?” Felix asks, voice sleep-raw, punctuated by the drag of his mouth. “Coffee? Bagels?”

Henry finds the effort to move out of this glorious, _glorious_ , position, turns to press up against Felix’s chest.

Felix’s hair is an utter disaster, more scruffy than it’s been the entire weekend, including the times Henry’s pulled at it, desperate, and his eyelids are at half mast, sleepy.

He’s the best thing Henry’s ever seen.

“Morning,” He says before Henry can say anything, and presses a closed-mouth kiss to him, which is thoughtful, because no one tastes good in the morning. But he lingers, giving Henry the chance to deepen it if he wants.

Henry wants, and it’s not so bad, the taste of Felix’s mouth, especially when it does such talented things.

Henry’s hand trails sleepy fingers down the planes of Felix’s chest, bed-warm and soft, to the waistband of his boxers, just so Felix knows exactly what it is that Henry wants instead of breakfast. Felix’s grin is wide enough that he breaks the kiss, pulls back to arch an eyebrow at him.

“You don’t want breakfast?” He asks as Henry fingers at the lip of his boxers, grins when Henry’s stomach makes itself known. He blushes. He hasn’t eaten since the omelette Felix made them yesterday, both of them too caught up in each other to remember.

Felix catches his hand, lifts it up to his mouth and presses a kiss to the palm. “After,” He promises, and rolls out of bed. Henry follows, if only because it’s much less fun in Felix’s bed without Felix in it.

“Take out?” Felix asks over his shoulder, jumping into his jeans, and if it takes Henry a little long to answer, distracted by the pull of Felix’s shoulder muscles, the curl of the dip of his spine, Felix doesn’t comment. “I think I used the last of the eggs yesterday.”

Henry’s shirt is still currently locked in a stall in the bar last night, so Felix hands him a new one. It’s slightly smaller than the one he gave him yesterday, though still a little large on Henry all the same, and Henry questions it with a look.

“Peter’s,” Felix explains. “I would have given it you yesterday but, well, I kind of liked you in mine.”

The tips of his ears are a little pink, and even if Henry’s blushing up a storm, he can’t help the noise he makes in the back of his throat, the way he reaches for Felix, pulls him down into a messy kiss that Felix responds to readily before pulling back, hands on Henry’s shoulders, grinning.

“Breakfast first,” He says, still close enough to Henry that the words are warm on Henry’s lips. “I’m not feeding you enough.”

Yes. Because Henry’s _complaining_ about the prioritising of sex over food.

But he goes, bends to pick up his jeans, and he catches Felix watching him when he stands back up. Felix’s smirk is unashamed and slips into Henry’s belly, warm and knotted.

It’s _playful_ , the way they get dressed around and with each other, handsy, grinning, like they've known each other years. Henry never had a relationship last more than six months, at most, but he thinks that this is what it'd feel like. Waking up with someone you love would feel like waking up with Felix.

It's a dangerous, _dangerous_ road of thought to go down, but Henry can't help it, not when Felix uses Henry's scarf to pull him in for a kiss in the elevator, almost tradition at this point, takes his hand as they walk down the street, unhurried.

Henry gets Felix onto the subject of books, curious to the content of Felix’s numerous bookshelves, and watches in delight as Felix’s face lights up, hands gesticulating enthusiastically, still never letting go of Henry’s hand even as he does so. Felix leads him to a small, out of the way, breakfast café, with just enough people inside to feel like they still have a little bit of privacy as they discuss recommendations and childhood favourites while their orders get ready.

“Hot cocoa and cinnamon?” Felix asks when Henry’s to-go cup arrives, clearly a little sceptical, which Henry gets. There are few people who are willing to accept the awesome that _is_ cinnamon hot chocolate into their lives, especially at eleven in the mornings.

Felix accepts the offered cup, however, and the slight quirk of his eyebrows makes Henry smile. When he dips and kisses Henry quickly, tongue ghosting fast across his lips, Henry blinks, barely manages to kiss back before Felix is pulling away.

“Tastes better from you,” Felix says, and hands Henry back his cup. Henry hides his ridiculously large grin behind it.

They leave the café and somewhere along the way the subject turns back to last night, Felix’s friends, because Felix adores them as much as they adore him, and Henry adores the way Felix smiles when he talks about them, about the twins, who are, as Henry suspected, “Only sixteen. But they’ve been through more than people twice their age.” Henry imagines that that same fact is true of most of Felix’s friends, of Felix himself. It’s a look in the eyes. Henry knows it well, sees it in Emma, sees it in himself, sometimes.

He brushes off Felix’s casual-but-maybe-not-really questions about Henry’s own friends with a laugh and a “Bit of a loner, really.” Felix doesn’t press, but he presses a kiss to Henry’s hairline before going to fetch plates. It’s not pitying it’s just

 _Nice_. As if, for just a second, every lonely moment in Henry’s life is filled up by Felix and the whisper of his kiss.

As they eat, Felix’s foot hooks around Henry’s bare ankle, just resting there, and the cool air of outside, the come down of taking a break to walk to Felix’s café and back, hasn’t lessened Henry’s want for Felix any, but it’s softened it again, made it warm.

“So, breakfast first?” Henry says when they’ve done, plates in the sink, and Felix turns, smiling as Henry grins up at him, mischievous, because Henry might have issues he doesn’t ever want to examine, but he’s twenty one and Felix makes him feel _good_.

Felix has him hitched up on the counter before Henry even realises, laughs into Felix’s shoulder as he hangs on, and Henry has a height advantage like this so Felix presses up to kiss him, chase the laughter away, and it’s not like before. It’s still charged, Henry’s every nerve lit up as he presses back, hand on Felix’s jaw to steady himself as he licks inside Felix’s mouth, tastes the cream cheese of his bagel and the hot wetness of his tongue, tugs gently at Felix’s bottom lip with his teeth, but not as _all go_ as they’d been earlier. Henry’s happy to sit here, Felix between his legs and kiss him for as long as he can.

They break for air with a wet sound that ricochets around Henry’s abdomen, but don’t move away, breathing into each other’s mouths, and Henry doesn’t realise that the hand he has on Felix’s jaw is tracing gently along the ridge of the pale scar bisecting across Felix’s face until Felix pulls back a little, takes a hold of Henry’s hand and kisses it softly.

“You can ask, you know,” He offers, smiling a little, soft.

"Will you tell me?"

Felix closes his eyes, hums. "I'm not sure. I think I'd like to find out."

Henry leans forward and his lips brush against the scar, closing in a kiss. "What happened?" He asks into Felix's cheek, feels Felix lean into it a little bit.

They're still for a long moment, Felix still between Henry's legs, Henry's grip loose on him now, just pressed against each other gently.

"I was eleven," Felix finally says, and Henry's breath catches at the change in Felix's voice. It's still light, soft, but he sounds _young_ all of a sudden. Twenty-three isn’t old, Henry knows, even if he feels like the two years between them could stretch oceans, but Felix doesn’t even sound _that_ anymore. “Grew up in the Home, and it wasn’t the best place. Breeds a pack mentality. I wouldn’t trade what I have with my friends for the world, but I know it’s not always the healthiest thing.”

Felix’s hands rest on Henry’s hips, thumbs moving in a soothing motion that’s definitely more for himself than for Henry, and he pulls back to breathe in a little, looks away for a second before he comes back to Henry.

“Pack mentality, because all we had was each other. The adults weren’t worth shit, the foster parents came from the gutters, and the kids at school were almost worse. It was fight or die, most of the time, and we survived it, but we didn’t survive it unscathed. We all have marks, scars.”

He holds up a hand, finger and thumb a few inches apart. “Knife was no bigger than this. Thin. Tiny. But it was going towards Peter’s ribs.” Henry’s breath catches, and Felix smiles, sad, huffs a fond laugh. “Always in trouble. Most, he can handle by himself, even if I don’t let him. But he was ten, mouth too big, grin too wide, voice too loud, and it wasn’t even a _choice_ to step between them. It was instinct.”

“I took it for him, would again, eleven or twenty three. And I think that scared Peter a lot.” He frowns, but it’s gone before Henry can reach out and soothe it. “I don’t think he’s ever forgiven himself.”

“You were just kids,” Henry says, voice quiet, and he hesitates a second, hand hovering near Felix’s cheek. Felix blinks slowly and shifts a little, allowing him, and Henry runs the pad of his thumb from the top of Felix’s scar to the very end. He lets his hand cup Felix’s jaw, thumb still at the edge of the scar, and the tips of his fingers bury themselves in Felix’s hair. “You were just a _kid_ , Felix, _god_.” He presses forward and Felix lets him kiss him, mouth closed and lingering, and Felix tastes like the saltiness of tears he hasn’t shed.

“I’ve only ever told one other person that story before,” Felix says, when they break apart, every inch feeling like it’s _pulling_ at Henry’s chest.

“Sometimes it’s easier to tell a stranger.” Henry offers, and Felix looks up at him, face so soft that it cuts at Henry, makes him bleed somewhere inside his ribs.

“Are we strangers, Henry Mills?” He asks, and this feels like _it_ , like the question, the precipice Henry’s either going to throw himself off or run in the opposite direction from. And even if he does take that leap, there’s no guarantee of flying. He could hit the ground, break every bone, but he’s pressed against Felix and Felix feels sure, feels steady, feels like he’s going to catch him.

“No,” Henry shakes his head slowly, and rests his forehead against Felix’s. “No, we’re not, are we?”

Felix _surges_ up, and everything that was soft in him is suddenly amplified until he’s biting at Henry’s bottom lip, bruising it, hand cradling the nape of Henry’s and it’s still soft and loving and Henry wants to cry with it, kisses back with everything he has in him.

“What do you want?” Felix gets out, and he’s not slowing, his hands are sliding round to Henry’s ass, pulling him closer, and Henry wraps his legs back around him, holding him tighter. “Henry, tell me what you want, right now, this second, what do you want?”

Henry wants Felix, all of him. Henry wants to make sure Felix never has to look sad like that ever again, wants to keep him looking the way he just did, at Henry’s words, forever. But he gets the feeling that this is specific in the way Felix is breathing hard against him, moving like he _needs_ Henry, needs something that isn’t words anymore, which is okay because Henry also really wants to pick up where they left off this morning.

He’s not sorry Felix stopped them. If he hadn’t, it would have been too easy to fall back into the easy push and pull of bodies and sighs, and Henry wouldn’t have found this little part of Felix, tucked away deep in his chest. Henry wants to give it back, wants to be stripped in front of Felix the way he never has before anyone else before, but right now Felix needs to kiss him, needs Henry to tell him what he wants, so Henry tries, gasped out between kisses.

“Can I-“ He can feel the blush rising on his cheeks and pushes it down, kisses at Felix’s open mouth until it leaves. Felix pulls back, mouth at Henry’s throat in an obvious ploy to let Henry get out the words, but Henry’s mouth opens on a groan instead as his teeth nip at the jut of his throat.

“Tell me, Henry,” Felix purrs when Henry can’t get the words out. “What do you want? Do you want to fuck me? I’d let you, you know I would. Let you take me over, do you think I need it right now? I want to know what you think, what do you _want_ , Henry.” He says it all in a growl against Henry’s skin. “What do you want to do with me?”

“I want to suck you off,” He gets out, smudged with breath. Felix stops. “You can get me off first, I promise, I just-“ Felix swallows what he had to say next, and Henry can feel him smiling into the kiss, a little less ragged at the edges.

“We can do that,” He murmurs, low, rubs his nose against Henry’s once, playful, and gets an arm around Henry’s back, other hand beneath his ass, and _carries_ him across the apartment to the bed.

Henry pulls his borrowed shirt up and over his head at Felix’s raised eyebrow, his “Off. Now.” And he smiles because he can’t help it, because Felix is smiling again, and Henry can still see the kid who stepped in front of a knife for his best friend in his eyes, scared and so brave, but that’s not all there is anymore. Now, Felix’s eyes are dancing, hungry.

Henry’s been balancing on an edge since he woke up, and he can feel Felix growing hard against him as they kiss, moving across the room, grinds down and he can’t, won’t, doesn’t even _try_ to stop the moan he lets out into Felix’s mouth.

“Now,” Felix says, drawls slow and tugging, when he’s got Henry on the bed, jeans off, now sliding Henry’s boxers down his legs at a tantalisingly slow pace. “What to _do_ with you.”

He yanks Henry’s underwear down the final few inches, discards them, and crawls up to press over Henry, hovering above him. Felix is still dressed, and every scratch of his denim jeans over Henry’s thighs, the whisper of his pale yellow hoodie against Henry’s arm as he dances feather light fingers there, sets Henry alight. He’s completely naked, exposed, and he shivers.

Felix smiles, and he kisses at Henry’s temple, the hand on Henry’s arm trailing across to spiral lightly across his chest, before dipping suddenly and encircling Henry with loose fingers. Henry’s head tips back.

“Like this?” Felix asks, teasing, as his hand moves. “I could get you off like this, Henry, would you like that? Strip you down and take you apart until you’re fucking my hand, until I have to hold you down? I like the weight of you in my hand, Henry.”

Henry pants as Felix’s hand works him, can’t find the words to answer, and Felix’s hand moves away. So does he, kissing from Henry’s cheek to his throat, down the line of his chest until he’s biting at his hips, looking up at Henry through his pale lashes. He mouths sloppily at the skin there, wet.

“Or like this?” He asks, and moves lower, breathing hotly across Henry’s cock. “I liked the taste of you coming down my throat, Henry, liked you fucking my mouth. I think I’d like to do that, one day, just open my mouth for you and let you use me like that.” He licks a wide stripe up the underside of Henry and Henry’s body jerks like the string of a bow.

Then Felix moves lower, kisses at the inside of Henry’s thigh, and his hand pushes at the muscle there, moving Henry’s leg wider apart. Henry feels the heat of Felix’s breath wash against him, almost inside him, and whines, high in the back of his throat.

“I _really_ liked doing this.” Felix’s voice has gotten low enough that it curls in Henry’s abdomen. “Eating you out like a fucking delicacy, Henry. Fuck, you make the prettiest noises, but none like that. I could get you off just from this, I think. My tongue inside you, hands spreading you so wide, and you’d come without my even touching your cock.” Felix’s mouth closes on him, slick with spit and Henry’s back arches as Felix licks at him, mouth moving, burying his face inside Henry.

Henry’s legs move without his instruction, wrapping around Felix as his hands move to fist in Felix’s hair, lightning echoing through him from the inside out. He feels Felix smile against him, and then Felix pulls away with a positively _illegal_ sucking noise that makes Henry’s eyes roll back into his head, his hips roll up.

“I could do that,” Felix says, voice casual, at Henry’s hips again, and as he moves he breaks the hold of Henry’s legs on him easily. Henry’s not exactly got much strength left in his legs right now. “But I think what I’d really like to do is see the way you take my fingers.” He keeps moving back up Henry’s body, nips lightly at his lips before he’s twisting away, back again in seconds and then through the roaring in his ears, Henry hears the slight _snick_ of a bottle-cap.

Felix’s hands push Henry’s hips further up the mattress, knees knocking Henry’s legs apart. Henry’s hands fist in the sheets as a slick finger presses at him, rubbing slowly in, and Felix is still talking. “This is what I wanted to do last night,” Felix says, finger slipping to the second knuckle, curling inside Henry. “Not that I’d want to change a thing, but I’ve been thinking about it ever since. Imagining the way you’d open up for me, Henry.”

Henry can’t make his voice do anything but whine as Felix slips in a second finger, both pushing to the last knuckle, and twisting, spreading him wider. He pants, sweat trickling through his hair, itching, and he wants to move his hip, buck against Felix’s hand and the soft rasp of material he can feel against him from where Felix’s sleeve has fallen down, maddening, but Felix’s other hand is firm on his hip, holding him still as Felix fingers him open, pulling out to the pads until Henry’s aching with the loss of sensation, before dragging back inside.

Felix hums and bites kisses across Henry’s hips. “You look so good, Henry,” He murmurs, and there’s an edge in his voice now, affected “Taking me in so easily, and _fuck_ the way you _feel_.” He’s losing coherence, and Henry can’t even find it in himself to feel triumphant, can only feel the waves of heat rolling out from where Felix’s fingers are inside him, the sudden coolness of breath he feels there then

He’s jolting up and crying out as Felix’s tongue works around his own fingers, and his hand is rocking, counterpoint to the jabs and laps of his tongue, and Henry’s clawing at the sheets now. He can _hear_ the messy sounds Felix is making between his legs, feel the vibrations of Felix’s satisfied hums, and the hand Felix has on his hip finally loosens, allowing him to weakly rock his body into Felix’s mouth, deeper onto his fingers.

The hand from his hip drags over the head of Henry’s cock like an electrical charge, just as the deep press of Felix’s long fingers inside him brush right over the spot that makes his vision turn black at the edges, and with a deep shove of Felix’s tongue curling inside of him, Henry’s spine locks up, melts, and he comes hard enough to knock him back, breath chased out of him and body bursting into stars.

Felix doesn’t pull his fingers free even after Henry’s collapsed back into the mattress, leaves them buried inside of him and lets him ride out the aftershocks on them.

Felix’s mouth finds the mess on Henry’s stomach and the drag of his tongue eases a groan from Henry’s lips, choked off when Felix’s fingers finally slip loose of him. Felix’s head is still bent over his stomach as Henry blinks back to himself, hands holding him up as he laps and licks at Henry, bobbing, until Henry’s hands find his hair, threading loosely, and he comes when Henry tugs.

He _crawls_ up Henry’s body, and as the hunger in his eyes fades, Henry sees the vulnerability there flicker back when he hangs over Henry and presses in for another kiss. It’s close-mouthed, holds for a second as Henry gets his breath back, and it’s a second Henry needs.

It passes in the space of his breath before he’s pushing up, until he’s on his knees, naked and pressed up against the long and still clothed lines of Felix, hands in his hair and kissing him the way Felix deserves to be kissed, like he’s needed, like he’s wanted, the way Felix has been kissing Henry all weekend.

He makes quick work of Felix’s clothes, pushing his hoodie from his shoulders, hands at his belt buckle, still trading kisses that are getting needier and needier the more Felix kisses him. Felix is shattering under his touch, and it doesn’t make Henry feel powerful. It makes him feel responsible, careful. Felix is giving him this, giving himself this, letting himself go under Henry and Henry’s suddenly aware of the fact that Felix has probably never done that before.

He gets Felix on his back, a reverse of their positions as Henry finally breaks the kiss and moves his way down. He’s wanted to map Felix’s every inch since they met, and he’s finally getting the chance.

He kisses across Felix’s shoulder, traces the lines of the mountain range the spills over from his back there and kisses at the peak. His tongue finds the ridge of a white scar across Felix’s chest, and he wants to know every story of every scar Felix has, trace Felix’s history across his body, share his own stories, but for now Henry stays quiet because he thinks he’s going to get the chance to hear them. One day. He hopes.

So he turns his attentions to the small silver ring hooked through the skin of Felix’s nipple, like he’s been thinking about ever since he saw it, and closes his mouth around the metal. His breath hitches when he hears Felix hiss, feels his full-body jerk, and it’s confirmation that Felix is ridiculously sensitive here so he flicks his tongue against the ring, pulls back and blows cool air across the skin, pebbling it around the metal.

He pulls it into his mouth, tugging a little, and when he rolls the small ball there, the metallic tang hits the back of his throat, along with the skinsalt _sweat_ taste of Felix’s skin. It’s intoxicating and Henry keeps mouthing sloppily at it, until he has Felix whining, his hand in Henry’s hair, and the flesh there is pink and glistening as he pulls himself away.

Felix’s chest is rising and falling, staccato, and he’s watching Henry like he can’t help it as Henry dots kisses down the line of Felix’s stomach, fleeting and dancing then growing longer and wetter the lower he goes.

He sucks at the V of Felix’s hips, and Henry’s good at this, he knows he’s good at this. He might not be at Felix’s levels, but he’s good at this. He _likes_ doing this, likes learning all the different ways his partner is sensitive, hearing their noises, and the noise he gets when he licks a broad wet stripe up Felix echoes in his chest.

Felix isn’t going to last long. Getting Henry off has affected him just as much as if Henry has already been working him for ten minutes, hips jerking minutely under Henry’s hands, so Henry reaches out, laces his hand with Felix’s and feels him squeeze back. Then he takes Felix down in one movement, ducking his head and hollowing his cheeks as he moves, slow, eyes locked with Felix’s until he can’t anymore, has to close his eyes and hum quietly around Felix.

“Ah- _Henry_ -” Whines out above him, choked, and Henry’d smile if he could, settles for flicking his tongue and dragging off halfway before pressing back down until his nose bumps at Felix’s pubic bone.

Just for a second, Felix’s hips _cant_ and Henry moves with the motion, before Felix stills again, muscles tense, and he’s holding himself back, Henry can tell, feels it in the lines of his thighs, the sudden rigidity of him, and that’s not what he wants right now. He wants Felix as helpless beneath him as Felix has been making him all weekend, wants to give it back to him, and he can’t do that if Felix is holding back. That’s not what Felix needs, either.

He makes a displeased noise in the back of his throat that vibrates out, and maybe Felix gets it, because then there are hands in his hair, only Felix’s fingers aren’t tugging at him, they’re stroking lightly, running through Henry’s hair until they cup the back of his head, holding him, gently, as Felix bucks upwards for him.

Henry hums and Felix’s body _rolls_ , like a cresting wave that

It breaks. Felix breaks. The fingers in Henry’s hair tighten before disappearing, finding Henry’s hands and gripping down tightly as Felix arches like a bow and snaps, coming on a gasp that rockets down Henry’s spine, and maybe this is what Felix was talking about. Giving Felix this is like coming all over again, deeper, somewhere in his chest.

Henry waits until Felix is still again before he pulls off, slow, and he rests his head against Felix’s thigh, catching his breath. The room is quiet, but for the sounds of both of them breathing. Felix is still holding onto Henry’s hands.

When Felix reaches for him, Henry moves, lets Felix turn him, push him into the mattress and kiss him openly, hand in his hair again. And Henry’s a mess, but that seems to be a theme of this weekend, and Felix clearly doesn’t care as he kisses and kisses him.

“Thank you,” Henry says, quiet, when Felix pulls back, the barest millimetre. When he speaks, Felix’s lips brush against his. “For telling me.”

“I don’t tell strangers things, Henry Mills,” Felix says, and the way he says Henry’s full name sounds like a separate sentence on Felix’s tongue. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Henry says, and he thinks he believes it.

 

***

 

Henry doesn't want to leave.

Henry really doesn't want to leave, but when the sky starts to deepen to the rich blue of early evening, he knows that he has to. He has school tomorrow, homework to finish, and a paper due on Friday that, any other weekend, he would have already finished.

He really needs to go.

He just really doesn't want to when he's resting his head on Felix's bare stomach, Felix's fingers softy resting in his hair, feeling the best he has in a long, long time. From across the room, he can see his phone lighting up. Calling him back to the real world.

“You have to leave, don’t you?” Felix asks, and Henry sits up, pulling away. Away from Felix, or away from this conversation, but definitely pulling in every direction. “Hey, hey,” Felix follows him up, hand on his waist.

Henry lets himself lean into the touch, even though he probably shouldn’t, and Felix presses a kiss to his shoulder.

“Whatever you want, Henry, remember?” Felix kisses at his hair, lets it linger there. Henry closes his eyes. “From the beginning.”

Felix’s hands find his, rest on top and lace with his fingers, and his chin rests on Henry's shoulders. And this is why Henry doesn't want to leave. It feels natural in Felix's arms, as easy as breathing.

He’s silent for a long time, mind caught on the warm of Felix pressed up against him, until Felix presses a soft kiss to his neck. “Henry?” It’s not pushing, just a gentle nudge. Then he exhales, slow, and kisses further and further up Henry’s neck, until he’s just breathing into Henry’s hair. Henry closes his eyes to it.

“I don’t understand it,” Felix says, voice as gentle as his kiss.

“Understand what?” Henry finally speaks and he’s blaming the shakiness of his voice on lack of use, not on the way Felix’s breath touches at him, the way Felix is cracking him open down the centre.

“Why you’re so surprised I want this.”

Henry’s breath hitches.

Felix hums unhappily in his throat. “Do you think I do this often, Henry?” Felix asks, and moves their hands so that Henry can hug at himself. He keeps his eyes closed. “We’ve barely left the apartment, I’ve talked so much that my throat hurts, and I can’t keep my hands off you. “ Henry can feel him press a soft smile into him. “ _Henry, you met my friends_.”

Henry can hear Emma’s voice in his head. _You made me take that chance. Do yourself the same favour, kid_.

He sighs and turns, crawling into Felix’s lap and settling there. Felix lets him, welcomes him, and puts a hand at his hip and one at his neck, hanging onto him. And Henry can feel it then, in Felix’s body. Felix doesn’t want him to leave anymore than Henry does.

Henry breathes, and he’s been taking chances on Felix all weekend so he takes one more. “I have to leave,” He says, and Felix is close enough that he can see every minute change in his face as he waits. “Do you have to stay?”

He allowed himself to think it last night, to acknowledge the hope he has fluttering in his chest that he can _have this_. Now, he’s saying the words, can’t take them back, and he’s never felt more terrified.

Felix's hips have the shadows of Henry's fingertips bruised into them and Henry ducks his head, fingers at them, waiting. He wanted to write his name across Felix’s skin in bruises, and he has.  He wanted to learn the stories behind Felix’s every mark and scar and tattoo, and he _is_.

He wants Felix and he really wants to get that, too.

Felix’s hand catches his fingers, lifts them up and kisses them gently. Then he bites down at the pads, grinning, and the size of his smile sings deep in Henry’s chest.

“You want me to take you home?”

“No.” Henry shakes his head, and he’s smiling back already. “I want to take you home.”

“I’d really like that,” Felix says, and uses the grip of his hand on Henry’s hand to tug him forward, catch him in a kiss that hums happily into Henry’s mouth. Henry gasps into it. It’s chaste and close-mouthed but Henry’s gasping.

“You- Really?” He can’t help but ask when he can breathe, and he can’t stop smiling, breathy laughter.

“Stop being so surprised,” Felix laughs, and maybe Henry won’t but he can try.

He kisses Felix instead of answering, and they’re smiling more than they’re kissing but Henry doesn’t care and neither does Felix, so Henry stays there, right there, trading slow kisses and breaths with Felix until the sky finally turns dark outside and he can barely see Felix even an inch away from him.

“Okay, we have to go,” He finally says, presses it into Felix’s mouth with a smile, and Felix’s hand tightens in his hair, keeps him there as Felix laughs and bites his way into Henry’s mouth again, sipping deep. “I’m serious, Felix, we’ll never catch a cab,” Henry mumbles it, grinning, as Felix keeps kissing and kissing him, short staccato kisses so Henry can barely catch his breath.

“You keep saying it,” Felix breaks off to say, breathe, bite it into the line of Henry’s cheek before returning to his mouth again.

“Saying what?”

Felix is tugging at his bottom lip so intently, so gently, that Henry barely hears it when he mutters, “’We’.”

It sounds even better coming from Felix, and maybe that’s what finally seals it in Henry’s chest; Felix’s utter and uncontainable delight.

“Well, _we_ are going to be walking across town if you don’t let me go,” He grins, and Felix kisses him once more, hard, but obliges.

"I do have homework," Henry says as he tugs on his jeans, because it's only fair to warn Felix he thinks. "It's probably not going to be very interesting for you."

Felix hears what he's not saying, because Felix always hears that, and slows in pulling his shirt on, watching Henry for a long moment before he moves again. Shirt on, he comes closer, hooks his fingers in Henry's belt loops and makes it so Henry had to look up at him. "You do get that I'm not coming home with you for sex, right?" He asks, and Henry resists the urge to duck his head. "Sex with you is indescribable, Henry, but it's not the reason."

"I know," Henry says, quiet, because he _does_. He promises. "I'm just saying you might get bored. Unless you find the various origins of the Persephone myth fun."

Felix chuffs a laugh, concern ebbing away once again. "I'm sure I could be persuaded." Which

Sounds a _lot_ more fun than Henry's homework.

His thoughts must show on his face because Felix grins, wide, and pushes at his hips. “Get dressed,” He says and Henry goes.

By the time they finally get outside it’s even darker, but Felix manages to hail them a cab anyway.

Henry lives uptown, past Felix’s place, near the college itself, and when they stumble out of the cab, wrapped up in each other but separating til the only point of contact is their laced hands, Henry feels Felix do a double take beside him. He feels himself flush.

"My mom bought it for me," He says, shuffling his feet. “I never let her do anything for me once I left so she insisted on this.” And on his tuition, and the weekly sum that goes into his account each week that they both try not to acknowledge. Henry knows this place is too nice, too _much_ , and fuck he feels uncomfortable right now.

But Felix doesn’t press. Instead he asks, quiet, “Left?” like he gets that this is something more than just going away for college and leaves an open space for Henry to either let the question drop if he wants to.

“Lets go inside first,” He says, promises, because they’re on a busy street and Henry might need a few minutes more, but he wants to tell Felix about his life, like Felix has told him. He does.

Felix delivers a quick kiss to the shell of Henry’s ear, understanding, and follows him as he keys in the code and pushes inside.

“It’s just-“ Henry starts as they climb the stairs, leading Felix up behind him by the hand. The stairwell is quiet enough that there’s a degree of privacy and it’s easier to start this without looking at anything but where his feet are going. He breathes and starts again.

“I was adopted when I was barely a week old,” He says and keeps climbing. “Regina, my adoptive mother…” He’s never said this aloud before, not really. “She loves me, I know she does. If there’s one thing I know about my time with her it was that she loved me. But she doesn’t really know how to love people well. We ended up hurting each other, a lot.”

Felix’s hand squeezes at his, a silent comfort, and Henry stops at the next floor landing, turns around. Even two steps below him, Felix is still slightly taller. “I ran away when I was ten. Tracked down my birth mother, Emma.”

“Emma from the phone?” Felix asks quietly, catching Henry’s other hand, and Henry smiles in memory of Felix’s sleep-gravelled voice, his hands on Henry’s hips, the way he’d kissed him afterwards.

“Emma from the phone,” Henry confirms, presses in nose at Felix’s cheek, breathe him in, growing serious again. “She was only eighteen when she gave me up, wanted me to have my best chance, but she saw I wasn’t getting it with Regina. So we came to an arrangement and when I was twelve I started living with her. I’ve been living with her ever since and we’ve been happy.” He smiles again, soft this time, and Felix must feel it because he smiles too. “She’s my best friend.”

Henry has to force himself to move again because there’re still two flights of stairs left. Only now Felix is next to him again, rather than a step behind. “I still see Regina. And I’m not sure I know how to stop loving her, so it’s easier to accept it when she tells me she’s bought me an apartment near the college of my dreams instead of telling her I don’t want it. It’d only hurt her, and I’ve done that enough.”

They’re at Henry’s floor now and when they go through onto his corridor, Felix pulls Henry gently to a stop. “I wasn’t judging,” He says, hands on Henry’s neck, just shy of cupping his face. “But I’m glad you told me. I like it.”

Henry frowns, confused. “Like what?”

“Knowing you,” Felix tells him and presses down to kiss him right outside 5A, and Henry’s brought people back to his apartment before; the rare one night stands, the short-lived boyfriends. He’s never felt so good about it before, never pushed up onto his toes to chase a loving kiss until he’s pressing Felix into the wall, holding him there, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth because he loves the things it says.

A quiet coughing from his side springs Henry back and he flushes when he sees the source of the pointed interruption. “Mrs Blanchard,” He stammers, face to face with the lovely lady who lives one door down from him, who always invites him in for hot cocoa when she sees him in the corridor, whose husband always helps Henry when he’s having maintenance issues, and who has just seen him all but _climb_ Felix in the middle of the corridor. Oh god. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-“

“I didn’t know you had a nice young man, Henry,” She says instead of anything he’d expected, smiling. Henry blinks. “I’m very happy for you. Even if you are blocking the doorway.”

Henry jumps to the side like he’s been burned and Mrs Blanchard definitely laughs at him. “Sorry.”

“You know,” Felix drawls once Mrs Blanchard has bustled away, patting Henry on the cheek as she passed, and his voice ignites in the pit of Henry’s stomach. “I’ve never been called a ‘nice young man’ before.” His voice lifts, considering, and he grins at Henry with reddened lips. He looks ridiculously pleased with himself and Henry swats at him.

“C’mon, my place is just up here.”

Henry’s apartment is a nice place, he knows, but he also knows how empty it is. He has his books stacked on every surface, his school work spread across the table, Thursday’s dishes still waiting for him to deal with them. He has some plants in the window, and they’re wilting a bit after two days without water.

Most noticeable, he thinks, is the lack of photographs on the walls.

It’s not a typical student flat, is the thing. Henry likes it, but it’s obvious right away both how much time he spends here, and how little time anyone else does. Some of his self consciousness creeps back in without his permission.

Henry stops in the entrance, doesn’t even turn on the lights, just lets the streetlamps outside cast an orange glow over everything, and it feels different from when he left it. Henry’s different. Felix’s hands find his hips, his lips find his neck. “Henry?”

“I think I do this even less often than you do,” Henry says quietly. Felix makes a small noise, and closes the door. The soft snick of it is comforting.

Felix noses at Henry’s neck, hands sliding beneath his top and they’re warm on Henry’s skin. He shivers. “No other nice young men around?” He asks, mouthing at Henry’s neck and Henry grins, nerves fading again.

“Oh, I don’t do so well with the whole nice young men thing,” He admits, finding Felix’s hands and leading him further in. “Usually.” He laughs when Felix nips at his neck in a grin, delighted, and they’re swaying together until Felix is turning him around and picking him up. Henry’s legs hook at the dip of Felix’s spine and he giggles into Felix’s neck, hanging on as Felix slides him onto the edge of his dining table.

His homework is still scattered across the table, and he should be doing it, but it’s nowhere near the top of his priorities right now.

Henry pulls back, holds himself up on his hands and tilts his head up at Felix, smiling. He can’t remember the last time he felt so wildly happy in his own home.

“I have a question,” Felix asks, standing in the splay of Henry’s legs, and his hands slip back beneath the material of Henry’s shirt, spread wide against his hips as he presses a small series of butterfly kisses across Henry’s cheek, catching on the corner of his lips before pulling back just an bare centimetre. “If we’re doing this, seeing each other-“

“We are,” Henry confirms, because he’s let himself have this now, there’s no way he’s letting it go.

He feels Felix’s smile more than sees it. “If we’re seeing each other,” He repeats, delivers a quick kiss to Henry’s mouth, then grins wide with a chuff of laughter. “Can I have your phone number?”

Henry bursts into helpless laughter, resting his forehead against Felix’s and shaking quietly with it. He presses a hand to Felix’s neck, feels him laughing too. “Oh my god,” He says when he can manage it. “We’ve done everything backwards, haven’t we?”

“We got here in the end,” Felix offers, and Henry hiccups another laugh. His face hurts with smiling. “And I think I like our way.”

And Henry just has to kiss him then, at the way his face gets soft above Henry’s, the way his knuckles skate up Henry’s sides, making him shiver. Henry kisses Felix and keeps kissing him, until Felix pulls back, breathing a little heavy.

“I thought you had homework?”

“I have perfect grades,” Henry murmurs, pressing back in so he’s whispering it against Felix’s lips. “I can stand to half ass it in the morning if it means you’ll fuck me in my own bed tonight.”

The noise Felix makes at that is worth flunking his entire college degree for.

He barely gets Felix’s name out before Felix is crashing their mouths together, a bruising kiss, frantic. Henry surges back against it, licks his way into Felix’s mouth, a push and pull that Henry can see culminating right here on his dining table and, _god_ , he wants Felix a thousand times over in a thousand ways and all of them here, in his home, but right now?

He pushes back, just a little, at Felix’s chest and Felix pulls back with a wet sound. Henry groans, chases the sound even as he tries to get the words out. “Not- Not here- Felix-“

“One of us is going to have to stop, then,” Felix mutters, pressing back. “It might have to be you, babe.”

Which is just playing _dirty_.

“You _don’t_ want to fuck me in my bed?” Henry asks, innocently, because two can play and all that, and Felix whines against his lips. “Because it _sounds_ like-“

“Which room?” Felix asks, _begs_ , smudging kisses down Henry’s jaw, his throat.

“Third door,” Henry gasps as soon as he can remember, mind scattering at the scrape of teeth at his neck, and Felix hitches him up around his hips, hands on his ass, and Henry rolls into it, grinning.

He can barely _breathe_ he’s so happy.

Felix gets them there quicker than Henry’d thought possible,sets him down, and there's a moment that stretches, where they're just smiling at each other, ridiculous, before they start on their clothes.

Henry's bed is unmade, hurried out of it the Friday morning that feels lifetimes ago now, and he pushes Felix down into it, across the mattress until the covers have pillowed breath his head and he's staring up at Henry like he's everything. His hands slide up the flesh of Henry's thighs and where they were frantic seconds before, Felix's hands are whisper soft and when Henry dips to catch his mouth again, it's slow and open.

Felix makes a questioning noise into Henry's mouth and Henry moves away just long enough to grasp in his bottom drawer, press the bottle and packet into Felix's hands.

Felix opens him up slowly. Henry's still loose from earlier but Felix still takes his time fingering Henry open, coaxing shudders and gasps from him as he crooks his fingers inside him. Henry fights to keep his eyes open, locked with Felix's even as he bites his bottom lip beyond repair because Felix is watching him softly enough to break.

His fingertips are leaving bruises on Felix's shoulders as he braces himself against him, moves his hips forward and _sinks_ onto Felix’s slicked cock, without words between them but for Felix’s quiet “Ah,” that falls out of him, Henry’s breath hitching as he settles in Felix’s lap.

Making sure Felix is still watching him, Henry finds Felix’s hands curled in the sheets, catches them and cradles them in his own, before he lifts them to his lips, pressing feather light kisses to his knuckles, his palms, moving off of instinct and the way Felix’s eyes get as he does so, full.

He could fall in love with Felix like this.

Henry moves Felix’s hands again and Felix lets him, places them at his hips, and Felix’s hold is gentle until it’s not, until Henry rolls his hips, slow, and Felix’s fingers grip at him like a harbour in a storm. Then Felix moves, rising to meet Henry’s crest, and a delirious laugh startles out of Henry at the lightning that sparks behind his eyes, blooms in the dip of his stomach, happiness exploding out of him, and Felix’s face lights up the room.

Felix surges up, catching Henry around the small of his back and pulling their chests together, and it shifts the angle of him inside Henry so Henry cries out. Felix kisses him, swallows the noise.

Felix’s other hand find’s Henry’s jaw, holds him there even after they break apart, panting quickly into each other’s mouths until the pressure at the base of Henry’s spine builds so much that he can’t smile anymore, can only snap his hips, meet Felix’s every movement, and Henry feels lit up all over, pulls Felix closer and closer, deeper.

He’s the barest inch from Felix’s face, they’re watching each other through the warm fog of breath and sweat and sex and Henry can see every flicker in Felix’s eyes, every shiver roll through him. Henry could kiss him like this, hard and bruising and hanging on as his orgasm hits him, but Felix is murmuring his name, over and over like a litany, and when Henry shudder and comes with a quiet cry of Felix’s name, mixed up with his own, it’s better.

God it’s even better.

Felix’s voice cracks on Henry’s name, his hips jerk, and he buries his face in the crook of Henry’s neck, finally breaking gaze as he pants and shudders against Henry. Henry’s breath is coming in short bursts and he only realises he’s crying when he feels wetness at his shoulder.

He laughs through his own tears, strokes at Felix’s hair until he coaxes him back up to eye level, and kisses him sweeter than Henry knows how to do anything, kisses him until he comes back to himself. They’re both still shaking in the aftershocks, kissing and smiling and crying and it’s too much but Henry takes it, takes it all, feels full inside.

Felix’s hand pushes Henry’s hair back from his forehead, holds there as Felix kisses at every part of Henry’s face he can reach, slow and gentle and loving and Henry closes his eyes, blissed out.

He listens to Felix’s breathing, how it evens out, and it’s the same as Henry’s heartbeat.

In the morning Felix will wake Henry with a thousand of these kisses, and Henry will make Felix breakfast in his kitchen. It will taste completely awful and Felix will laugh at him, soothe the burn with gentle hands and a teasing smile. They’ll be rushed and hurried before Henry dashes to class, but they’ll still find the time to thumb their numbers into each other’s phones, grinning stupidly.

Henry will kiss Felix in the entrance of his building before they go their separate ways, back to separate lines of life that now intersect, and it will be the most wonderfully frightening thing Henry has ever done.

But for now they curl up together in the mess of Henry’s bed, soft and rumpled and together. Henry kisses at Felix’s chest and lets himself fall asleep there, easy.

 

***

 

Epilogue

 

 _“You’re still fucking smiling, aren’t you?”_ Peter laughs at him down the phone, and Felix rolls his eyes but can’t deny it, not when his cheeks hurt and he has to duck his head to avoid looking manic as he waits outside the college.

“Fuck off, Pan,” He says instead, a veritable confirmation, and Peter just laughs harder.

 _“Fucking sap,”_ Peter mutters without bite, fond, and Felix can hear the happiness in his voice, the same happiness that’s clear in his own voice, that’s singing in Felix’s chest. Felix is happy, so Peter is. “So when are you and loverboy heading over? You know Wendy’s gonna want to meet him.”

“I’m waiting for him now,” He says, rather than address the flip his stomach does at that. “And don’t call him that.”

 _“Whatever,”_ Peter says, because he might be happy for Felix but he’s still an asshole, but Felix can hear the sudden shift in his voice when he says, _“You’re sure about this, Fee?”_

It’d be easy to brush it off, but that’s not what Peter and Felix do, not with each other.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Maybe a weekend isn’t enough to be sure. Maybe it is. Felix just knows that he wants to pick Henry up from classes and take him home again, wants to kiss him in the elevator, wants Henry to do his homework on Felix’s bed, wants to fall asleep next to him for as long as he can.

He wants to text Henry when he has awful customers at his waiting job, wants to see Henry waiting for him at the end of the bar when he finishes his shifts at Neverland, wants Henry to tut at every bruise he gets from running with Peter. He wants to teach Henry how to cook at least _something_ , because it’s already apparent that he’s useless in that are, and he wants to listen to everything Henry has to say to him because at times it seems like Henry’s bursting at the seams with things he doesn’t say.

Felix wants to hear it all.

He’s sure.

Peter doesn’t answer him. There’s just a short exhale down the phone, a strange mix between being punched out and a sigh of relief. It’s kind of how Felix feels himself.

“I’ll see you later, kay?” He says after they’ve been silent for a while, Felix counting Peter’s breaths the way he always used to when they were kids, curled up in the same bed in the Home.

 _“Try not to get_ too _side-tracked,”_ Peter warns him, amused, himself again, and hangs up before Felix can retort.

Felix isn’t waiting long, and he doesn’t grin when he sees Henry come out of the campus gates, but he smiles, and it feels different on his face. Soft.

Fuck, Henry _blushes_ , just slightly, when he sees him, smiles happily, and there’s none of the surprise there that Felix was expecting. None at all. “Hey,” Henry says, stopping a bare foot away from him, and Felix saw him get dressed this morning, somehow didn’t take in the starch collar at his neck, the soft brown jumper that makes Henry look all but edible.

“Hey,” He repeats back, stupidly, and remembers he’s allowed to reach out and slide his hands into the back pockets of Henry’s jeans, allowed to kiss Henry’s smile, so he does.

If there was any _tiny_ part of Felix that was worried that, with the end of the weekend the spell would be broken, it’s gone in the face of how Henry near-sighs against his mouth and sinks into him.

“Hey,” He says again when he pulls back.

“ _Hey_ ,” Henry replies, still smiling, and they stand like that for a long minute, silent and wrapped up in each other, pressed back against the wall Felix has been waiting by, just _smiling_ at each other. Felix will ask about his classes in a second, watch Henry’s hands fly through the air as he talks and catch one, lace their fingers together and feel his breath hitch at the flush on Henry’s cheeks.

Now, he pulls back, finds Henry’s hands anyway. “You ready?”

“Kiss me again,” Henry says instead and Felix makes a gutted noise, does, until Henry moans softly into his mouth and breaks the kiss. “Now I’m ready.”

God, Felix could love Henry for the rest of his days, when he looks at Felix like that, like Felix is everything he needs.

He tucks Henry under his arm, presses a kiss to his hair as Henry’s arm slides around his waist. “Wanna share a cab?”

Henry laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> After nearly two months of this, it's finally done. Wow. A thousand thanks to Caitlin for reading almost every part of this as I wrote it and for making me feel like it was something people wanted to read. Thank you to the anon who asked for this in the first place, I bet you weren't expecting this. And thank you to any of you who've read through this whole thing.
> 
> All feedback is appreciated!


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